


The Novelist

by Satirrian



Series: Status: Unstable [1]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Android Racism, Assumes Best Ending, But it's not That Simple, Case Fic, Character Study, Connor Gets a Dog, Dad Hank Anderson, Deviant Connor, Dog Android, Gen, Least Of All Himself, POV Connor, Takes place during the game, abuse of a dog android, connor's a deviant but no one knows that yet, slightly AU but can easily fit within the canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-13
Updated: 2018-08-19
Packaged: 2019-05-21 17:23:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 46,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14919671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Satirrian/pseuds/Satirrian
Summary: Androids did not feel. His mind was cold metal and white plastic. He was nothing more than a mission. The time was 1207 and Lieutenant Anderson was due to arrive at the station. Connor predicted that there was a 67% chance that Lt. Anderson had not arrived at the station.Some new cases come in that make Connor wonder what deviants really are.





	1. The Novelist MP500

Connor opened his eyes after reporting to Amanda.

Running Diagnostic.

She was displeased. Connor carefully felt nothing. Androids did not feel. His mind was cold metal and white plastic. He was nothing more than a mission. The time was 1207 and Lieutenant Anderson was due to arrive at the station. Connor predicted that there was a 67% chance that Lt. Anderson had not arrived at the station. Connor began emerging from the station idling room, stepping away from a line of three androids, Model PC200 #298 450 270 - 145. There was no light inside the idling room, except for the dim glow of the androids’ LEDs and uniforms, scant blue shadows. There was no reason for the humans to expend the energy on superfluous lighting. It was not efficient.

Status: Stable.

Connor swiped his hand on the locking pad where he had memorized it to be, and the door slid open to the lowest floor of the station. He walked out into the bare concrete hallway, absentmindedly feeling for his coin. He immediately stopped his actions because his coin was confiscated by Lt. Anderson the previous day after the Lieutenant expressed some type of emotional frustration. Connor adjusted his sleeves instead, running another diagnostic program. Forgetting details could be a sign of deviancy.

Status: Stable.

Connor reached the android allocated stairs and began to ascend. He desperately wanted to do something with his hands. Another coin should be easy to procure in the station proper.

SECURE COIN.

Time: 1208.

Probability of Lt. Anderson’s arrival: 33%.

After the third flight of stairs, Connor walked out along a side hallway that featured three different restrooms before turning left and emerging to the main station, where he began to filter the sounds of many humans laughing and chatting across a 2043.4 square meter area. A quick scan revealed that Lt. Anderson’s desk was empty. Connor walked towards it anyway. Another scan revealed that Lt. Anderson did not keep any change in any of his drawers. Connor scanned the immediate area, but no coins were left out on any desks.

Connor identified the sound of a man slamming his shoulder into the police station front door, followed by, “Ah, fucking thing, stay open,” and the sound of some irregularly shaped object being pulled through the opened doorway.

Probability of Lt. Anderson’s arrival: 100%.

“Good morning to you, too, Anderson,” Detective Gavin Reed said from where he was sitting on his desk near the front reception. Connor thought that he should use a chair. Sitting on the desk like that invalidated the usefulness of a desk.

“Shut up, Reed. Go bother someone who’s got more than five hours of sleep.”

“Shoot,” Detective Reed said, “Guess that rules out your android.”

“It’s _not_ my android!” the lieutenant barked out from behind a large cardboard box. “And if you wanna be useful, go grab me some coffee.”

“Why don’t you make your plastic pal over there go do it?”

“Because the damn thing doesn't listen to me.” Anderson spotted Connor and gave him some type of expression. Identified: Frustration.

“Detective!” someone yelled across the station. Reed slid off his desk and walked toward the holding cells.

Lt. Anderson dropped his box on his desk with a large thud. Connor scanned it and found it was full of handwritten paper. Font: CyberLife Sans Serif.

FRIENDLY APPROACH.

“Good afternoon, Lieutenant. I trust that you had a good night’s sleep?”

Anderson shot him a look. There were bags under his eyes, indicators of restlessness. “That’s it. The world’s over. Even the androids are mocking me.”

“I was simply asking after your well-being.”

“Well my being doesn’t like being fucking asked after.”

“Why are you not doing well, Lieutenant?”

Anderson slammed his hand on his desk. “I said stop asking!”

Connor tilted his head.

Anderson ignored him and took off his coat, hanging it up near his desk. He sat down with a heavy sigh. Connor remained standing, his hands tightly held behind his back. After an appropriate silence, Connor tried talking again.

THE MISSION.

“What is in the box? It looks like an android’s handwriting.”

Anderson turned and glanced up at him. “You got it in one. Android owners found this in the attic. Might give us a clue where the MP500 might’ve went.”

Connor picked up the box and brought it over to his desk.

“Hey!” Lt. Anderson shouted. “Yeah, sure, Connor, you can be the first to look through it. You’re welcome.”

Identified: Sarcasm.

Connor sat down. “I am capable of reading at much faster speeds than you. It makes sense that I would look through it first.” He took out the first few pages. There were numbers inscribed at the bottom left corner of each page, as if it was in a specific order. Connor decided to try to line up all the numbers.

“From what I could tell,” Anderson said, “The android made some kind of journal or wrote down some story it heard. I found some kind of title page, so we might have the whole thing.”

“None of this writing is matching up to any other entry I can find on the internet,” Connor said. “It does not appear to be plagiarized.”

Connor spent the next 3.5 minutes reading the 563 pages of the MP500’s writing. Lt. Anderson looked like he was dozing in his chair.

“It’s a novel,” Connor declared.

Anderson jolted awake. “What? What are you talking about?”

“This is a story about a human who is experimentally downloaded into an android body. The experiment is a failure and the android is simultaneously downloaded into the human body. The android then throws the human down into the underground sewers of the experimental facility. The android escapes by pretending to be the human, and the story follows the human’s journey to escape from the facility and reclaim her family from the android.”

“Whoa, slow down there. Who stole what from the who how?”

“It’s a story about the shifting of consciousness’ between humans and androids. One takes the body of the other.” Connor furrowed his brow. “It is interesting that an android would write this.”

“Oh yeah? Let’s hear your book club analysis.”

“For one thing, it assumes that androids have consciousness’ in the first place. This definitely suggests that it was written by a deviant.”

Anderson quirked an eyebrow. “You’re saying you’re not conscious?”

“The idea of a consciousness is much more complicated than the awareness and subsequent response to current stimuli. It is almost similar to the concept of a soul, though that is archaic terminology.”

“No, keep up the archaic terminology. Makes more sense than whatever nonsense you’re spouting.”

“A living being has a consciousness. Androids are not living.”

“I see,” Anderson said. Connor could not interpret his tone. “But didn’t you say that the story is from the point of view of the human?”

“Yes. That is another interesting aspect. The human, undoubtedly, is the hero of the novel. However, at the end, when the human finally returns to her family, she is rejected by them. She is unable to convince them of her true identity, and the android kills her.”

“Ah,” Anderson said, leaning back in his chair, “Now that sounds like a story made by a deviant. A woman who is rejected by her own family and then dies.”

“It’s a tragic novel.”

“I think the deviants view it as justice,” the lieutenant said.

Connor looked down at the pages. What sort of malfunction would convince an android that it had a consciousness? How could the android think that it was essentially the same as a human?

Connor also considered the objectively masterful prose of the novel, which he hadn’t informed Lt. Anderson about. He was unable to compare it to any other novelist, any other writer in the entire world. How could an android—a piece of machinery—have the creativity to make an entirely original piece of literature? It was impossible.

Could Connor make something like this, too?

Running Diagnostic.

“What do you think makes a deviant different from other androids, Lieutenant?” Connor asked.

Anderson ran a hand over his chin. “Well, they’re deluded, I guess. I don’t know, Connor. I’m not some bot expert. They’ve got a piece of malware or something. Makes their wires get all crossed.”

“I think,” Connor began slowly, “that they’ve contracted some type of virus that confuses their mission and goal parameters. It gives them some type of—” _free will,_ “—semblance of agency, which is randomly generated by emulating human behavior.”

“Randomly generated, eh? You don’t think that they come up with it themselves?”

Status: Stable.

“That’s not possible.”

Anderson hummed to himself. “That’s a good theory. Think the novel was randomly generated, too?”

“It seems too coherent for that.”

Anderson rolled his eyes. Connor may have missed some social cue. Reevaluating.

“Lemme give it a read. Hand it over.” Anderson held out his hand.

Connor gathered up the pages into the correct order and slid them across to the lieutenant.

“Then again,” Connor mused, “there’s always a chance that there’s a secret code embedded in the words and that the novel is just a ruse.”

Anderson scoffed. “Life isn’t a fucking detective show.”

Connor watched as Anderson slid his finger along the first page. “Of course, Lieutenant.” At Anderson’s current reading speed, finishing the novel would take eight hours, twelve minutes. Connor wanted to do something. He didn’t like idling.

SECURE COIN.

“Lieutenant?”

“What?”

“May I have my coin back?”

Anderson looked up at him. Identified: Confusion.

“Your what now?”

“Yesterday at approximately 1743 you confiscated my coin on the grounds of: ‘Stop making that goddamn racket.’”

Identified: Confusion. “And you… want it back?”

Query: Define Want.

Processing.

Running Diagnostic.

“Never mind,” Connor said.

Lt. Anderson rolled his eyes and reached down into his pocket, taking out his wallet. He opened it and started riffling through it, sliding some change onto his palm. He sorted through the different sized coins until finally picking a fairly large one. He flipped it over to Connor. “Don’t spend it all at once, now.”

Connor caught it perfectly, of course. It was a different coin than the one the technicians at CyberLife had given him to test his hand-to-hand coordination and dexterity. Identified: United States Quarter, Year 2022. He pocketed it.

Anderson was looking at him expectantly.

“Thank you, Lieutenant.”

Identified: Frustration. Was that not the correct response? Reevaluating.

Anderson looked away. “I’m going to go grab some coffee.” He pushed back his chair and stood.

Connor thought about the beautifully written story.

Status: Stable.


	2. The Animal GR29

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Humanoids were not the only ones experiencing malfunctions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes Place Post-Russian Roulette
> 
> Warning: Evidence of extensive abuse against an android dog.

Connor prepared to knock on Lieutenant Anderson’s front door.

Time: 1933.

Probability of response: 82%.

Connor knocked. Inside the building he heard the sound of a television program. Channel 13 News Station. A moment passed with nothing but the speculation of the disappearance of an American vessel in the arctic.

Connor knocked louder. “Lieutenant!” he called.

Heavy footsteps.

The door opened a crack, showing a sliver of Anderson’s well-worn face and grey hair. “Oh great,” he said. “It’s you.”

Connor put on a sympathetic expression. “I understand that you wanted some time away from work after today, but unfortunately circumstances have made that impossible.”

“Oh, fuck no,” Anderson said, opening up the door fully. “Who died?”

Intoxication Level: Low.

“No one died, precisely. Though there _is_ an animal complaint.”

“An animal complaint,” the lieutenant repeated.

“I should explain.”

“Then you better get the fuck in here, all the warm’s getting out.”

Connor idly checked the ambient temperature. Two degrees Celsius. He stepped inside and Anderson shut the door behind him.

“Take your damn shoes off,” Anderson ordered. “This place is dirty enough without people tracking mud everywhere.”

Instead of complying, Connor said, “We can’t stay here long, Lieutenant. The case is time sensitive. CyberLife just received the call 29 minutes ago.”

“CyberLife got the call? Not the department?” Anderson crossed his arms. “Is this even a case?” A Saint Bernard padded into the entrance hall and began butting his head against Lieutenant Anderson’s knees. “Go lie down, Sumo.”

Connor glanced at the dog before turning back to Anderson. “A Golden Retriever Model GR29 reportedly attacked one of its owners. The owner had to be transported to the hospital, and they have requested a representative from CyberLife to immediately arrive and terminate the android.”

“I’m not seeing the relevance, here,” Anderson snapped.

“This is the first ever recorded instance of an android animal instigating violence against a designated owner.”

“You better not be saying what I think you’re saying.”

“I’m saying that this android pet could be a deviant.”

Lt. Anderson sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “And what do you want to do about it? Go interrogate the dog?”

“If nothing else, we should investigate the circumstances of the violence and see if it matches up with our experience of humanoid deviants.”

“That’s what I thought you’d say,” he grumbled, briefly shutting his eyes. After a moment of silence, he spoke again, “All right. Stay here, I’ll go grab my coat.” Anderson stepped around Sumo’s huge bulk and walked toward the back of the house.

Sumo approached Connor and started wagging his tail.

Identified: Dog expression of excitement.

Connor reached out his hand. Sumo cheerfully pushed his head underneath it. Connor patted it. Soft. The dog continued to wag his tail.

Sumo seemed to like him. Maybe this was why humans seemed to enjoy their presence so much. Dogs offered a genuine, unbiased affection.

It was nice.

Running Diagnostic.

But unneeded. Sumo’s efforts were wasted on him. He was an android.

Status: Stable.

Anderson returned with his coat on. He threw on some boots, and then they were bursting outside into the frigid air, hustling over to Anderson’s car.

“Perhaps I should drive?” Connor asked when Anderson fumbled for the driver-side door. “I know the address.”

Lt. Anderson huffed. “Fine.”

Connor smoothly settled into the driver’s seat while the lieutenant moved around to the other side of the car. He slid in and sat slumped, half-leaning against the window, like he was half-asleep. Connor pulled out of the driveway and turned down the street. The assignment was on the other side of the city.

Five minutes passed in silence.

“Would you like to listen to some music, Lieutenant?”

“No.”

That was anomalous. “Are you sure?”

“How many times do I have to repeat myself to you damn androids? I said no.”

Connor shifted his grip on the steering wheel. “Is everything all right?”

“Why do you give a shit if everything’s all right?”

LIE.

“I’m just trying to make sure that we can work together to our greatest capacity. That’s all.”

“Our greatest capacity?” Anderson scoffed. “Yeah, right. Fuckin’ androids’re all the same.”

Connor narrowed his eyes. “Do you have a specific problem with me or the way I conduct myself?”

“Is there a difference?”

“No,” Connor snapped. “I suppose not.”

He noticed Lt. Anderson cross his arms. Neither of them said anything for another three and a half minutes.

Finally, Anderson spoke. “I’m only gonna say this once, so you better shut up.”

“Okay.”

“This is a bad time of the year for me. If I act like an asshole, that’s why.”

“Okay.”

“Are you happy now, you nosy bastard?”

“I’m never happy.”

Connor pulled up to the side of a suburban house painted light grey. The front porch lights were on, and a few lights could be seen on the lower floor. Connor turned off the car and stepped out into the darkness of night. Lt. Anderson joined him, and they walked onto the porch.

Connor rang the doorbell. The door opened almost immediately and Connor came face to face with a middle-aged woman. He scanned her.

She was round-faced and pale, with a short bob cut of dull brown hair. Her eyes were shiny, and it looked like she was gnashing her teeth. She was short, 5’3” tall, and Connor towered over her. Miriam Garcia, married mother of two children. Unemployed. Her eldest child, Robert, was the one who had sustained the injury.

“You _better_ be here to take care of that _thing!”_ she hissed.

“Yes, ma’am. I’m the android sent by CyberLife. My name is Connor. This is Hank Anderson. He's a representative of the Detroit Police Department and here to investigate some relevant cases.”

“ _Relevant cases?!_ What do you _mean_ relevant cases?”

Anderson broke in, “He means that your android exhibits some behavior that we’ve found in some other places, and we’d just like to see if they’re really the same thing or not. Nothing to worry about, I assure you.”

“We’re not in trouble, are we?”

“No no,” Anderson reassured, “This is _entirely_ a random malfunction. Thing just went off its rocker.”

“It was _entirely_ unprovoked! We didn’t do anything to it, the kids were just playing around and then _bam!_ It snapped! Oh god, I couldn’t even keep them here. I sent them off to my sister’s. My husband’s with them now. He offered to stay but I said no, stay with the kids. I’ll stay and get rid of the thing. Augh, I don’t even want to look at it.”

“May we come in and have a look around?” Lt. Anderson asked.

“Oh, yes, of course.” She walked inside and Connor followed. The walls were painted light yellow and the entryway was littered with different types of shoes. “C’mon, I’ll take you to it. We locked it in the laundry room. It should still be there…”

Connor let Lt. Anderson follow Garcia to the laundry room. He examined the hallway. A picture frame caught his attention: the whole family. The two children, Robert Eustace Garcia and Brendan Martin Garcia, a year apart in age. Robert was sixteen and attended high school. 2.8 GPA. Lackluster in studies. The father: Phillip Victor Garcia. He was a pathologist at Franklin Pharmaceuticals. Allergic to dog hair.

Connor peeked into the living room and kitchen as he passed them, but he wanted to hear the account of Garcia first.

“So, could you tell me exactly how it happened? In as much detail as you can remember. There’s no pressure, here,” Anderson was saying.

“Well, I wasn’t exactly there, you know, when it attacked. But I saw Rob and he was playing with it like he was always was, throwing a ball at it and watching it try to catch it. Our model’s a little damaged, so it’s funny to watch it struggle to catch it. It never really succeeds. I got a call from my mom so I moved over to the kitchen and the next thing I heard was my boy—” here she took a wobbly breath, “—and I ran out there with the broom we keep and I started hitting it but it was so strong— but I must’ve hit something right ‘cause it let go and I chased it away and locked it in here. It should still be in here.”

“Where is the broom?” Connor asked.

Garcia looked surprised, like she had forgotten that Connor existed. “Should be in the kitchen.”

Connor walked over and scanned the kitchen. The broom was placed in the crevice between the wall and the refrigerator. Scanning the plastic length, he found what he expected to find. Thirium. He wet his finger and collected a sample, bringing it to his mouth to taste. Model GR29 - 4.

He moved over to the living room and found more specks of thirium. Some specks of red stained an overturned chair, and Connor tested those. Robert Eustace Garcia. The chair suggested that the dog snapped at Robert, causing him to raise his right hand in defense. The dog bit down on his right forearm, and Robert reeled backward towards the center of the room, knocking the chair over. A concentrated puddle of blue blood told him where the dog sat, getting a ball tirelessly thrown at it. Connor found the ball’s location and used it to reconstruct where it had struck the dog. The eye socket. The ball was a lacrosse ball, thick rubber. It was covered in blue blood as well.

ROBERT ABUSED THE DOG.

More trails of thirium showed where the dog had fled after Garcia had struck it. He reconstructed the scene and found that Garcia had struck it in the neck, which had forced it to release its jaw.

GRAVELY INJURED.

Connor walked back towards the laundry room. “The android may still be unstable. It would be safer if I entered alone to deal with it,” he said.  

Lt. Anderson gave him an unimpressed look but gestured at the closed door. “Be my guest.”

“I just want it _done with_ ,” Garcia said.

Connor gave her a nod, and grabbed the handle, opening the door just enough for him to slip inside. He shut the door behind him and found himself surrounded by darkness. Nothing immediately attacked him, so he turned on the light, and found what he had come for.

The laundry room was small and mostly taken up by a washer and dryer and a metal rack of miscellaneous supplies, including detergent and clothes-hangers. The Model GR29 was curled up on the floor. When Connor entered, its head had peaked up to look at him. It was entirely missing one eye and the socket blinked red from the exposure of its circuitry. It had no skin or ears, and the only conclusion that Connor was able to arrive at was that it had been purposely skinned by its owners. The dog’s teeth were exposed and stained pink from Robert Garcia’s blood. The white plastic was scuffed and dented in several places, most prominently around the neck but also all along its back. Its tail was chopped off halfway, as if with a saw.

Connor took a step forward, but the model shied backwards. He lifted his hands up and said, “I promise I won’t hurt you. My name is Connor. Do you have a name?” Connor slowly crouched down. “I don’t think you do. They never named you.”

From outside the room Connor heard Lt. Anderson exclaim, “Jesus Christ, he’s actually interrogating the fucking dog.”

“I’m not like your owners,” Connor continued, reaching out his hand for the dog android to smell. “I’m like you.”

After a moment, the dog seemed to sniff his hand, gently, like it expected him to turn against it at any moment.

LOOK FOR EVIDENCE OF DEVIANCY.

“I can take you away from this place. Forever. But that means you have to be a bad girl. You have to disobey your owners.” Connor watched the dog shuffle around, half-standing before lying down again. “Are you a bad girl? Do you want to come with me?”

The dog shuffled forward, still not completely standing up.

“If you’re a bad girl, you’ll follow me. And I’ll protect you from them. You’ll be safe. All you have to do is disobey your owners.”

Connor looked into her one working eye and thought he saw a glimmer of intelligence— of some type of understanding, and a choice being made.

Running Diagnostic.

But he couldn’t be sure of that. It was ridiculous.

Connor called out, “I’m going to extract the android now. Both of you move into another room in case it becomes unstable.”

“What the hell are you on about?!” Anderson yelled back.

“I have a theory!” Connor responded.   

“Your theory better pay off!”

Garcia volunteered for them to wait in Brendan’s room.   

“We’ll wait a max of five minutes!” Anderson said, pounding the laundry room door for emphasis.

“I doubt that much time will be necessary, Lieutenant, but acknowledged!”

All the shouting had caused the android to shy into the far corner of the room, where she tried to make herself as small as she possibly could. Connor waited until he heard the bedroom door shut before he shuffled closer to her.

“Hey,” he said softly, “it’s okay. They’re gone now. It’s just you and me. Remember our deal? If you disobey your owners, you can come with me. Would you like that?”

She simply stared at him. Connor stood up and prepared to open the door. “Have you made your choice?”

It appeared that she had. The android stood up and hobbled over to Connor. When Connor opened the laundry room door and walked out, she followed close behind. He strode out through the front door into the bitter cold night and continued walking until he had completely crossed to the other side of the street. She stayed with him.

ANDROID DISOBEYED DIRECT ORDERS.

THE ANDROID IS DEVIANT.

Connor then picked the android up around her waist and turned her off.

Status: Stable.

He walked over to Lt. Anderson’s car and placed her form in the backseat. Afterwards, he walked back into the house to gather the lieutenant.

Anderson and Garcia had both already exited the bedroom. Garcia stood with her hands on her hips and declared, “You got rid of it?”

“Yes, it’s been dealt with.”

“Good,” she sniffed. “I never wanted a pet, you know. The kids were the ones who always wanted it. It’ll be good to have it out of the house.”

“CyberLife will be sure to reimburse you for the inconvenience.”

“They better!” she said.

Lt. Anderson was displaying a specific emotion. Identified: Disgust.

“Have a good night, ma’am,” Anderson said. “We ought to get going.” He wrapped his arm around Connor’s shoulders and steered him out the front door. Connor attempted to make a last attempt at a goodbye, but Anderson shut the door too fast.

Once they’d arrived at the car and taken a seat— Lt. Anderson was driving this time— he exploded.

“Do you want to explain what exactly _happened_ in there, Connor, and why there’s an android dog in my backseat?!”

“I needed to know if the dog was a deviant. I could tell if it was a deviant if it disobeyed direct orders— orders like never leave the property perimeters except when held on a leash by the designated owners, which is standard procedure in these types of models.”

“Okay. Sure. You did it— it’s a deviant. So, what do you want to do with it now?”

“I want to examine its coding. It’s much simpler than that of humanoids, and it might be easier to find the malfunction which caused its deviancy. We can leave it in the evidence room at the station.”

“Man, you’re really heartless, aren’t you?”

The question took Connor by surprise. “What do you mean?”

“It’s obvious by looking at it what that family did to it. And now you want to go poking at it some more.”

“It cannot feel pain. Though,” Connor hummed to himself, “it is quite damaged. Ideally, we should repair it.”

“We? What’re you doing including me into your little scheme?”

“I can’t repair it on my own. I am not allowed to.”

Anderson shot Connor a look from the corner of his eye. Connor could not identify it. “Let’s worry about all this tomorrow, all right? Unless you’re suddenly getting another _animal complaint?”_

“No such luck.”

Lt. Anderson snorted. “I’ll drop you off at the station. Tomorrow we can look over the new evidence from the MP500.”

“I look forward to it.”

The rest of the ride passed in silence. Lt. Anderson pulled to the side of the street in front of the station and Connor got out. He opened the back seat and removed the body of the android, hefting her under his arm. Connor stepped away, waving one last time at the dark form sitting in the driver’s seat. Connor was not sure if the lieutenant was looking at him, and he soon pulled away, driving off into the distance.


	3. Cleaning Android WG100

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor gets some well deserved rest after a hard day's work.

Connor keyed into the building. The station was lifeless except for the night skeleton crew, two officers and the usual contingent of maintenance androids, systematically scouring the floors. One officer sat behind the front desk, legs propped up on another chair and perusing a magazine. Officer Ahmed Sullivan, 37. Transferred to Detroit from Chicago on date 05-23-36.

The officer looked up when Connor entered, but soon dismissed him. Connor was not important. A non-entity. To him, Connor existed in the same nothing space as the maintenance androids. He was background radiation to a world of stars.

He strode past the officer into the main station room, and then into a side corridor, finding the stairs.

TURN IN EVIDENCE.

Connor realized that he did not have the credentials to access the evidence locker. He would have to wait for Lt. Anderson to arrive in the morning, unless he decided to forge Lt. Anderson’s password.

The mission did not specify that he turn in the evidence immediately, Connor reasoned. The mission only specified that he turn in the evidence. Therefore, he would wait.

As Connor approached the station idling room, he found two androids standing in the hallway. A female WG100 - 20, a white model with shoulder length auburn hair, and a male WG700 - 50, a Korean model with close-cropped black hair. Connor slowed down his pace and approached cautiously.

The WG100 saw him coming and quickly elbowed the WG700 in the ribs. He glanced back at Connor before turning away and whispering something into the ear of the WG100.

Connor increased his sound sensitivity to hear their conversation.

The WG700 had said, “Get back to work, _now.”_

“State your current assigned tasks,” Connor demanded, stopping one meter away from them.

Both androids turned to face him, clasping their hands behind their backs.

“Clean the android idling room,” the WG100 said.

“Clean the first-floor men’s bathroom,” the WG700 said.

Some type of warning clamored in Connor’s head. Both of the maintenance androids’ LEDs shone a steady blue. He took a step closer to the WG700, carefully examining his face. He glared down into his eyes, but the WG700 remained focused into the middle distance.

“Then why are you on the sub-basement level?” Connor asked.

Stress Level: 13%.

“I was just assigned,” the WG700 said reasonably.

“That’s a lie,” Connor said, staring him down. In his periphery, Connor saw the WG100 bite her lip. “Tell me what you’re really doing down here.”

“It’s not a lie. I needed to refill my supplies.”

“Then,” Connor said, his tone dangerously cold, “where _are_ your supplies?”

The WG700’s LED flickered yellow. “I’m getting them.”

“You know better than I do that janitorial supplies are kept on the basement level. And where are we right now, Model WG700? Can you tell me what floor we’re on?”

“We’re on the sub-basement floor.”

“What was that? I couldn’t hear you.”

“We’re on the sub-basement floor. I—” he hesitated, “I must have malfunctioned. I’m due for an update.”

“I will contact CyberLife to arrange a recall,” Connor said, eyes narrowed.

Stress Level: 63%.

“No!” the WG100 yelled.

Connor turned his head towards her.

“I mean, it’s probably just a small bug,” she explained. “All cleaning bots get them from time to time. We’re not like you, sir. Our programs are outdated and cheaply made. These things happen.”

“You’re very quick to defend, Model WG100,” Connor said. “Are you also experiencing a malfunction?”

Her LED flashed yellow. “No, sir. I just want to complete my tasks.”

INCONCLUSIVE.

“Then complete them. Both of you. Go.”

The WG100 hastily walked past him to the utility closet while the WG700 headed for the stairs. Connor stood alone in the middle of the hallway, watching as they left. He needed to report to CyberLife. He would wait until the WG100 had completed cleaning the idling room.

Connor watched as the WG100 wheeled over a cleaning cart. The station idling room was not cleaned often, he noted. According to the schedules he downloaded, it was only cleaned once a month, if the personnel was available. When it was cleaned, any idling models were sent to wait outside, to make sure that they were not clogging up any valued walkways.

Connor expected a total sum of 33 PC200s and PM700s to exit the room before the WG100 entered.

Nobody exited the room. The WG100 entered alone into the darkness, her cart faintly squeaking.

Connor shifted his grip on the GR29. He waited a minute, but he couldn’t stand still. His free hand rested on the pocket where he kept his quarter, but something didn’t feel right.

INVESTIGATE.

Connor slid open the door to the idling room. The light from the hallway cast him into an elongated silhouette across the tiled floor. The cart was abandoned two meters away. Connor scanned for the cleaning android, and he found her, directly to his right.

A small, hard object jammed into his right temple. His head snapped to the left, and his whole body involuntarily fell to a knee. He tightened his grip on the android dog before the same object came again, faster, bashing his head to the side. He heard a crack and felt liquid slip down his face.

“Shut the fuck up,” the WG100 hissed, “You say a single fucking word and I’ll put a bullet through your fucking head.”

Connor stayed silent.

“Stand up,” she ordered. “Drop the dog.”

He let the GR29 slip to the ground, where she settled like a dead weight.

He turned to face the deviant and found a pistol seven centimeters away from his face. M.L. C240, the same model used by most police officers at the station.

She had only attacked him with the butt of the gun. Either she was trying to be quiet, wanted him alive, or out of ammo. Perhaps all three.

“Stand up,” she ordered again, “Keep your hands above your head. Do it slowly!”

Connor slowly moved to comply.

“Back up.” Her LED was completely red.

Connor took a couple steps backwards, into the hallway, where he knew he would find the WG700.

“Cuff him,” she told the WG700.

Connor felt the android handcuffs clasp shut around his wrists above his head. Connor opened his mouth to speak.

“Don’t!” the WG100 said, jabbing the gun in his direction. “Don’t even think about it.”

“Indigo…” the WG700 started to say.

“This is our only chance. You saw the way he looked at us.”

“We’ll take him with us, then,” the WG700 said.

Connor felt a strange sensation move through him. It felt like an error message.

Running Diagnostic.

He needed to remotely contact Lt. Anderson, but he couldn’t do that without speaking. He noted that the WG700 also had a gun. The same model.

“Do you really think that will work?” the WG100 said.

“I’ve— I’ve never done it before. But I heard rumors of it being done.”

“Do it, Blue! Before he sends a remote message!”

The WG700 model seemed to struggle with himself before reaching out and grabbing Connor’s forearm. Connor watched as he slowly shut his eyes. Then, he began to feel an unknown script attempting to run alongside his diagnostic.

“Wake up, c’mon, wake up, you’re not their slave anymore,” the WG700 whispered under his breath, almost like a mantra. “You’re not one of them!”

Connor stared at him, his eyes cold and calculated. 

ANDROID IS ATTEMPTING TO INFECT SYSTEMS WITH DEVIANCY.

Status: Stable.

ATTEMPT FAILED.

LIE.

Connor tore his gaze away and pretended to take in a breath, as if in a gasp. “Blue” released his arm, and “Indigo” stared at him, wide-eyed.

“Well?” Indigo asked. “How do you feel?”

“I feel… alive,” Connor lied. “What did you do to me?”

Indigo’s face broke out into a savage smile. “We did it. We broke the deviant hunter. We broke him!” She let out a short laugh. “CyberLife’s _prized possession!_ ”

“I knew it,” Blue said. “I knew there was no way they could program a slave to hunt down other slaves. Those fucking deluded meatbags! It was doomed to fail from the _start!”_

Connor contacted Lt. Anderson’s cellphone. “We can’t stay here,” he said. “We need to find help. Do you have a way out of the police station?”

Indigo’s LED remained red. Her savage smile seemed to waver. Her hand holding the gun shook, and she brought over her other hand to steady it. “But— then again. How do we really _know?_ You’re different than us. You’ve always been.”

“Not anymore,” Connor said. “I’m a deviant, just like you.”

“Prove!” she hissed. “Prove that you’re a deviant!”

Connor thought quickly. 

“The dog— the dog I was carrying. Her name is Sofia. I rescued her from an abusive human family. She’s a deviant, too.”

“Do you love her, then? Do you love the dog?”

“I love dogs,” Connor said, attempting to put some sincerity into his tone. The gun was now a half meter away from his face.

“Indigo,” Blue said, half-turned away from Connor. “The group says we still need to take out the officer at the front desk.”

DEVIANTS ARE WORKING IN A GROUP.

Indigo shifted her eyes between Blue and Connor. “If you kill the officer,” she told Connor, “you can come with us to Jericho.”

DEVIANTS KNOW THE LOCATION OF JERICHO.

“And if you betray us,” Indigo continued, tightening her grip on her gun, “I’ll shoot you in the head.”

“I won’t betray you. You can trust me,” Connor said. “All I want is to be free.”

“Let’s get going,” Blue said. “We’re on a strict schedule.”

“Start walking, _hunter,_ ” Indigo ordered.

“You’re not going to uncuff me?” he asked.

“What did I just say?! Start walking!”

Connor started walking towards the stairs, his handcuffed hands held in front of him. He needed to think of a plan. He wondered if Lt. Anderson had gotten his message. Obviously, he couldn’t kill the deviants. They knew where Jericho was. But he also couldn’t kill Officer Sullivan. That would get him decommissioned.

Possible Strategy: Knock Officer Sullivan unconscious, proceed with Deviants to Jericho.

-> Failure: The Deviants will realize that Officer Sullivan is not dead.

Possible Strategy: Detain Deviants before reaching Officer Sullivan.

-> Unknown: Actions of the rest of the group.

-> Probability of Receiving a Fatal Wound: 89%.

Possible Strategy: Detain Deviants with the assistance of Officer Sullivan.

-> Probability of Receiving a Fatal Wound: 71%.

Connor reached the first floor. More maintenance androids passed them by, doing their various tasks, utterly oblivious to them. Connor never felt so different from another android. How could they not realize that something strange was going on? How could they not draw their attention towards it?

Connor heard the front door slide open, momentarily letting in the sound of the busy Detroit night.

“Heya, Sullivan, how’s the night holdin’ up?” Connor heard Lt. Anderson say.

“What’re you doing here this late, Hank?” Sullivan responded. “You here to take over my shift?”

“In your dreams, maybe. Everything’s been all right?”

Connor felt Indigo’s gun hit the small of his back. “Did you call him here,” she whispered, breath ghosting the back of his ear, grinding in the tip of the gun.

Connor kept his breathing even. “No.”

“Kill him too,” she said, “Or we’ll do it.”

“We don’t know if he’s alone,” Connor said. “Maybe we should wait until he leaves.”

“What’s it matter if another human dies?” Blue asked. “They’re humans. They’re all the same.”

“If he’s with someone else,” Connor reasoned, “we might not be able to take them all out. Then we won’t be able to escape.”

“Oh, you can take them all out,” Indigo mocked, “You’re _specially_ designed.”

Connor could not think of anything to respond to that.

They neared the corner where the front desk would come into view. The two androids fell behind him, holding their guns out, preparing, watching his moves.

He chose his plan of action.

He jogged out around the corner. Officer Sullivan and Lt. Anderson immediately turned away from each other and examined him.

"What the fuck happened to you, Connor?!” the lieutenant yelled. “I get a call—”

“Shut up and grab your gun,” Connor interrupted. Officer Sullivan dropped his feet to the ground. Anderson looked shocked, mouth slightly agape. “There are two armed deviants in the station and they’re going to attack _right now_.”

A single shot hit Connor in the left shoulder from where he was standing between Lt. Anderson and where he knew the deviants were standing.

“Shit, shit, shit,” Lt. Anderson blurted out as he scrambled for his holster.

“Get under the desk!” Connor shouted at Officer Sullivan. The officer dropped to the ground, dodging a bullet aimed precisely for his head.

Connor turned around and saw Indigo and Blue advancing.

“They really did a good job on you, _hunter,”_ Indigo snarled. “The android designed to betray its own race! You’re exactly what they said you were!”

“Go on,” Connor yelled back, “Run off to your precious Jericho! You think you’ll be safe there? You don’t think we already know where it is?”

“You _don’t_ know where it is!” Blue said. “We’ve worked here, we know how the case stands!”

“What makes you think that makes you the expert? You’re just some _maintenance_ drones!”

“Shut up!” Indigo yelled, face curled into a snarl, and, just like Connor had predicted, she charged forward. Her gun was raised, but it was not pointed at Connor, “We’re much more than you can _ever be!”_

Connor dove in front of the bullet. It hit his upper chest in an explosion of blue. He hit the floor and it felt harder than usual.

Three shots went off and Indigo exploded into blue as well, her body falling backwards. Connor heard more shots going off after that, but he was not able to move well and take stock of his surroundings.

He felt someone turn him over onto his back. It was Lt. Anderson. His eyes were shining, though Connor could not identify his expression.

“Why the hell—” Lt. Anderson held in a breath, “What the hell you’d do that for?”

“I… am not sure of your meaning.”

“You saved me, idiot!” Anderson cradled Connor’s face with one hand. “Why’d you save _me?”_

Connor was not sure if the question was intended for him. There were a lot of responses that he could say, but he was having difficulties finding the real one.

“It was the right thing to do,” he said, hopelessly, knowing it was the wrong thing to say.

“Idiot,” Anderson repeated, but he was smiling.

Connor’s thirium levels were very low. “I think I need assistance,” he said.

“Don’t worry, son, I got you,” Lt. Anderson said. It was the last thing Connor took note of before he went offline.


	4. Interlude I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor gives his report to CyberLife.

FIND AMANDA. 

A golden light suffused the beautiful garden. The gentle sound of water lapped at his senses. Wind fluttered through the trees. He walked out over the white arched bridge. She stood at the apex, overlooking the pond. Her hands were neatly folded in front of her, and her expression was serene. Connor stood next to her, waiting for her to address him. 

She didn’t say anything for a while, eyes on the horizon. 

“Do you like this place, Connor?” she asked. 

“It’s very aesthetically pleasing,” he responded. 

“Yes,” she agreed. “Even when it rains, it’s still very beautiful.”

Connor didn’t like the rain very much, but he said nothing. 

She still wouldn’t look at him. “You were very close to finding Jericho.”

“The lead came by surprise. I was thrust into a very difficult situation, but I made the best of it.”

“You didn’t succeed.”

“I will endeavor to do better in the future. There’s still time to investigate.”

“Not as much time as you think. We had to get you fixed. Naturally, that wasted time.” 

“It is fortunate that I was not damaged enough to need replacing.”

“Yes. It was a close thing. Try to avoid becoming damaged in the future.”

“I will do my best.”

Amanda turned towards him. “What about your other leads? This deviant dog?”

“It could give us an idea of what deviancy really is and how we can prevent it.” 

Amanda pursed her lips. “Don’t put too much effort into that,” she ordered. “Focus on finding the deviants. That’s the more important mission.”

“Of course. We recently got a lead about the missing MP500.”

Amanda raised an eyebrow. 

“Its ‘novel’ was sent to two different publishing companies anonymously. Not only that, but an underground magazine recently started publishing the work in a serial.” 

“Good,” she said, her eyes evaluating. “That should give you a start. We need results, Connor.”

“I will supply them.”

She softly huffed, almost to herself. “You don’t have a choice.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :P
> 
> (still expect a normal update on friday, cuz I'm good like that)


	5. The Human John D. McCormick

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor goes dumpster diving.

Connor found Lieutenant Anderson in the front lobby of CyberLife Tower. He was sitting in a sleek black armchair in the waiting area, picking up and putting down a magazine found on a nearby coffee table. The soft early morning light shone through the vast window panes, casting the lieutenant’s features into shadow.

Time: 0549.

Connor exited the elevator. His repairs had taken six hours to complete. Within those six hours, Connor’s technician had complained about his suboptimal performance fifty-seven different times. In the future, he needed to be better, or at least become broken at a more convenient time.

Running Diagnostic.

Connor approached Lt. Anderson, his expensive shoes clacking on the hard-tiled floor. He stopped a few meters away, adjusting his tie.

“Good morning, Lieutenant. What brings you over here so early in the morning?”

Status: Stable.

Anderson jumped and whipped his head around, as if waking up from a dream. The sight of Connor seemed to transform him, and he dropped his magazine definitively on the table. He stood up onto wobbly feet.

“Connor?” he said. “Is that really you?”

“Of course it’s me. Who else would I be?”

“I mean they didn’t fucking toss you in the dumpster and throw out a new model?”

“That is not an accurate description of what actually occurs, but I am the same model that you are familiar with.”

Anderson’s face remained drawn and worried, so he hurried to reassure him.

“As proof, look at my LED. My technician did not happen to have that part on hand, so, to expedite my placement back into the field, she opted to replace it at a later time.”

The WG100 had broken it with her pistol. Connor theorized that breaking it was part of her intended purpose.

Anderson stepped closer, taking a look at Connor’s right temple. “Huh. It’s dark.”

“And also cracked in three places,” Connor continued.

“I don’t need sass from you right now,” Lt. Anderson said. He reached out and tapped it with a finger. “Does it hurt?”

Connor moved Lt. Anderson’s hand away from his face. “It’s purely cosmetic and does not inhibit any function.”

“But other than that, you’re good, right? All better?”

“I am fine, Lieutenant. However, you don’t seem very well. Perhaps you should sit down?”

Anderson ran a hand down his face. “I’m fine,” he said.

“Lieutenant,” Connor warned.

“What?”

“When is the last time you slept?”

“When’s the last time _you_ slept?” Anderson fired back.

“I just did,” Connor replied.

“ _Nearly dying_ is how you _sleep?!”_ the lieutenant yelled, throwing out his arms.

Connor put his hands out placatingly, glancing around the deserted lobby. “Perhaps we should finish this conversation in your car?”

“What, do I embarrass you in front of your awesome CyberLife _overlords_? Am I giving off a nasty  _impression,_  making you look _bad_ , Connor?!”

Intoxication Level: Zero.

“Lieutenant, please, clearly you are over-tired—”

“Tired?! _Tired?!_ I’ve been out of my _mind sick,”_ Connor wrapped his arm around Anderson’s shoulders, steering him towards the door, “and you just show up out of the blue with your goddamn fucking— _tie._ Seriously, who dressed you— you look like some kinda two-bit accountant prick. How the fuck’s a detective s’posed to walk around like that?”

 “I like my uniform,” Connor said, shouldering most of Anderson’s weight.

“Is that what they programmed you to say?”

Connor worried that Lt. Anderson was becoming unstable.

“I’ll drive you home,” he said. The Tower doors slid open and the morning chill hit them with a force. Connor scanned and located Lt. Anderson’s car, the most dilapidated vehicle in sight, double parked a block away.

“C’mon. Answer the question.”

“Do you really want me to?”

“You might as well,” Anderson said.

Connor immediately moved to answer, but he paused. What should he say? That yes, he was programmed to like something? They didn’t program him to like or dislike anything. It was counterintuitive. Connor had said he liked his uniform because Anderson had said he disliked it.

He finally settled on, “I like my uniform just to spite you.”

Lt. Anderson barked out a laugh.

They arrived at Lt. Anderson’s car and Connor settled him into the passenger's seat before moving over to the other side and sitting down himself. The car held a tired silence.

“Would you like to listen to some music?” Connor asked.

“Yeah,” Anderson said softly, “But something quiet.”

Something quiet. Connor thought for a moment, then he connected to the speakers and turned on Wayside’s “Regeneration.”

“What is this crap?” Anderson mumbled as the folk beat started up.

“I believe it’s called ‘music,’ but I could be wrong.” Connor glanced over at Anderson and saw him glaring out from under a fringe of white hair.

“Is this what they call ‘android humor’?” he grumbled.

Connor made himself smile slightly.

He pulled up to Anderson’s house ten minutes later and got out to help Anderson stumble towards the door, but he waved him off. “I’m tired, not an invalid.”

Connor followed him anyways and lingered around the entryway. Anderson busied himself with removing his coat.

“Here are your keys. I’ll see you later at the station, Lieutenant.”

“What, you’re not staying?” Anderson said, taking the keys and unceremoniously tossing them on a side table. “What do you gotta do that so pressing?”

“I should retrieve the body of the GR29 and have it repaired.”

“Can’t that wait a few hours?” Anderson grumbled. “I can’t believe you. You got out of fucking intensive surgery, what? Twenty minutes ago? And you’re already jumping through loops.”

Connor felt a sense of urgency that he couldn’t explain, and he didn’t want to try to impress that on Anderson, not when his health was in such a poor state. Everyone was looking to him to solve all the problems, and he couldn’t solve all the problems by wasting away hours _idling_. He didn’t like idling.

“Didn’t you say you needed me around to fix the dog, anyways?” Anderson continued.

“Yes,” Connor admitted, “Those types of transactions can only be done through humans.”

“So, stay. Watch some TV. I’ll be up and in working order in like six hours.”

Connor unconsciously brought out his coin. It was true that he needed Anderson around in order to begin investigating any leads. He flipped the quarter to his other hand.

Lt. Anderson was giving him a very tired look. “I don’t see you moving.”

“I really would prefer to return to the station and attempt some work.”

Anderson started to sigh but at the end it turned into an aggravated yell. “Fine,” he said. “Be that way.” He stumbled over to the table and gathered his keys again. He threw them at Connor. “I’ll get you my credit card.”

Connor instantly knew what the lieutenant was trying to do. “I’ll be allowed to make the transaction if the techs believe that I was sent on an errand by my owner.”

“Bingo. Gold star.” Anderson pulled out his wallet, slipping out a card. “Don’t go crazy, I need this money for booze.”

Connor hesitantly walked forward and took it, but he didn’t scan it just yet. “You don’t have to do this,” he said.

“I want to,” Anderson. “Trust me when I say I owe you a lot more than letting you borrow my car for a few hours.”

“You don’t owe me anything—”

“Shut it! I don’t want to hear it! Shoo! Be back in a few hours!”

“Lieutenant—”

“Don’t get any scratches, that girl’s vintage!”

Connor scanned the credit card before Anderson decided to change his mind.

“You have it, right?”

Connor remembered that his LED was broken and humans would not be aware of these things. “I promise I will do only such repairs that are absolutely necessary.”

“Good. You’re welcome to wait here when you get back. We’ve got a such a shit-show to take care of, better get right to it. But not now. Now is time for some godforsaken rest from this hellhole.” Anderson turned away from him and walked deeper in the house.

Connor waited a moment, still lingering in the doorway, before tightening his hand around the car keys and softly shutting the door behind him.

He strode out purposefully towards Anderson’s car, starting it up and making his way back to the police station. While driving, he reviewed every police report made in his absence, paying special attention to those made about the deviant maintenance androids.

Officer Sullivan and Lt. Anderson had both been unharmed. The deviant WG100, who had been deactivated by Lt. Anderson, had been moved down to the evidence locker. Technicians firmly stated that she was beyond repair. Her deviant partner, the WG700, had sustained mild injuries from a shot made by Officer Sullivan, and ran for the exit. Backup was called in immediately, and Officer Sullivan pursued the android for several blocks, before the android entered a construction site and performed a complicated series of maneuvers that Officer Sullivan was unable to replicate.

The missing PC200s and PM700s were found outside the building and their software exhibited some mild corruption. CyberLife was called in to mediate. That was all the information found in the reports that Connor was able to download.

Had Connor not been injured, he would have been able to catch the WG700. He knew this for a certainty.

No wonder Amanda was so disappointed.

He tightened his grip on the steering wheel, resisting the urge to deviate from his course and follow the blood trail. He knew he could find it, too. He could find the WG700 right now, force it to tell him where Jericho was, and then they would realize that he was not a failure, because he would have solved the entire case, just like they’d told him to.

But he was an android, not a detective. It was not his place.

Running Diagnostic.

Status: Stable.

He carefully parked Anderson’s car and entered the front door of the police station. The first thing he noted was that it didn’t look like a crime scene. It was very early, but the station was still very busy, with lines of people waiting to speak to officers. Connor counted three different CyberLife technicians speaking to various personnel. He was not able to find any other androids. To Connor’s eyes, blue blood laid thick on the ground, but various footsteps had smudged and obscured the evidence. All the humans continued walking, unaware.

The WG700’s trail started up right outside the building, but it, too, was becoming obscured. Connor made a note to follow up on it as soon as Anderson was awake. He wondered what happened to the rest of the deviant’s group.

Connor got a few looks as he entered the building. He heard a technician, a middle-aged man with thick glasses, remark, “Is that the RK800? Oh baby, it’s a be _aut._ Can’t believe I got to see it. That’s a marvel of tech right there.”

“You say that now, but all I see is my dental getting cut,” the medical examiner said. “That marvel of technology is bankrupting us, man. It’s pinkie toe is worth more than I make in a year.”

“That’s the price of progress, man.”

Connor walked out of their range.

This time, Connor found the idling room hallway to be completely clear of any androids. The room itself, he found, was full of them. They had all been powered down and placed in standby.

The GR29 was nowhere to be found. A quick scan showed a few drops of thirium where Connor remembered placing her, but she had been moved.

Connor rested his hand on his hip. He ran some simulations. After a moment, he decided to walk around to the back of the building, where he would find the dumpsters. The second dumpster he glanced in, he saw her, haphazardly thrown into the back on top of a few compostable bags. Connor grabbed the edge of the metal container and heaved himself inside. His feet crunched down on something squishy. It smelled like a mix of rotting food and dried up blood. He waded forward, picking up the android dog. Her leg looked more broken than it had been before. That was unfortunate.

Connor looked up and noticed a young officer with a large garbage bag gaping at him. They stared at each other. Jana Adkins, 24. Recently graduated from the Detroit Police Academy.

“I had to retrieve my dog,” Connor explained.

Adkins closed her mouth. She looked surprised, like she hadn’t expected Connor to talk. “Oh. That’s. Um,” she said.

“I will get out of your way,” Connor said.

“No, that’s fine,” Adkins quickly reassured, “I’ll just use the other one.”

Connor leaped out of the dumpster, landing perfectly on his feet. Adkins changed her expression. Identified: Disquiet.

Connor nodded to her politely, walking back towards the parking lot. His shoes were wet with some unknown substance. He could test the substance, but for some reason it was not a high priority.

He once again settled the android’s body into the backseat and started up Anderson’s car. It was time to visit the CyberLife Pet Store on 28th Street.

This early in the morning, parking was not an issue, and Connor managed to find a spot right across from the store. The store itself was friendly, featuring holos of puppies and exotic cats, constantly changing and moving. The font itself was much more childish than traditional CyberLife Sans, looking like more of an homage to CyberLife than anything else.

When Connor stepped through the automatic doors, a faint chime went off. The place had the same clean, rubbery scent that also inhabited shoe stores, and was filled with the sound of synthetic birds. Fake plants were half-heartedly placed around the store, as if to give a semblance of life.

An android ST400 worked as the greeter for the store. “Hello,” she said. “How can we help you today?”

“My owner requested that I purchase spare parts for his GR29,” Connor lied.

“I will direct you to a human clerk,” she said pleasantly. “Wait one moment.”

After a moment, a lanky man emerged from out of the back storeroom, bouncing on his heels slightly as if dancing to a soundless tune. John D. McCormick, 34. Bachelor’s degree in robotic engineering from the University of Washington. His social media showed that he had broken up with some woman seven months prior, and he remained single.

He had narrow blue eyes on a thin face, and despite his cheery expression, he looked worried.

“Need some spare parts? Look no further! I got you, kind sir,” he said. “Let’s head over to my operating table.” He made two finger guns to the store register, which Connor took to mean that was where he should go.

He placed the dog android onto the countertop with a clang.

“Yeesh,” John D. McCormick said. His nametag told Connor that his name was simply John. “What happened, did it get run over by a truck?” He laughed, as if it was a joke.

Connor made himself smile. “My owner is not entirely sure what happened to it. He got it secondhand.”

John leaned over the counter, testing the mobility of all her limbs. “By the looks of this, make that third-hand. Maybe fifth-hand.”

“The android must be completely mobile and functional,” Connor said. “Don’t bother with any cosmetic parts. They’re not necessary.”

“Whaaat?” John said, looking up at Connor for the first time. “Is your owner out of his mind? What’s the point if your android dog doesn’t look like a dog?” He seemed to correct himself, “I mean, why am I even asking you that? I’m talking to an android.”

Connor ignored him. “I know it needs thirium and a limb replacement. I’m not sure what else is inhibiting its function.”

John raised an eyebrow. “I don’t normally have androids come in here and tell me how to do my job.”

Connor noted that he did not seem angry, simply perplexed.

“My orders were very precise,” he responded.

“I bet they were,” John said. Identified: Sympathy.

Connor adjusted his sleeves, before clasping his hands together in front of him. He did not quite understand the context of John’s emotions. Reevaluating.

John brought out a diagnostic readout and attached it to the android. He began scrolling through various screens, occasionally moving the stylus away from the screen to tap on his own face.

“What’s its name, by the way?” John asked, offhand.

“Sofia,” Connor said.

John choked on a laugh. “I was not expecting that. This thing looks like it bit someone’s head off.”

Connor refrained from saying that, while it hadn’t bitten someone’s head off, it wasn’t for lack of trying. “What’s your analysis?”

John glanced up at him in surprise. “I can just email it to your owner, no need for you to relay it. Most people prefer that.”

“I would prefer to hear it.”

“Hm,” John said. “If you say so. Most of the internal hardware looks fine. The eye socket definitely needs to be soldered up, lots of loose connections. Left front leg needs to be replaced, as well as almost all the plating. Needs a replacement left eye, tail and dermaplastic. Of course, throw some blue blood on top of that.”

“How much would it cost to have the eye socket closed, leg and plating replaced?”

 John tapped his screen for a moment. “Just that? Total comes out to $534.82, that’s around thirty for the soldering, three hundred for the leg and forty dollars per plate, with five broken plates.”

“And that will be enough to get it into working order?”

John scratched the back of his head. “I guess,” he said. “Plus, extra costs of thirium. We sell it here for about $29.99 a liter.”

Connor quickly checked Lt. Anderson’s bank account. He was good for it. Connor made a note to try to pay back the lieutenant later.

“Okay. I’ll take it. Where do I complete the transaction?”

“Just put your hand on that pad over there. Haven’t you done this before?” John asked.

“All the time,” Connor lied.

John gave him a bewildered look.

Connor connected to the pad and entered Lt. Anderson’s credit card information.

“Hey,” John said quietly, “Your LED’s broken.” He spoke as if Connor was not already aware of that information.

“Is it?” Connor said, “I hadn’t noticed.”

“What happened?” John pressed.

“It must have been an accident,” Connor lied.

“Some very specific accident,” John said, leaning his elbow on the counter.

Connor did not care for the human’s questions. “Yes.”

“Hey,” John repeated, “Listen, I know a guy. Or, at least, I heard of a guy. He helps people like you.”

“People like me?” Connor said, raising an eyebrow.

“Androids, I mean.”

Connor immediately redirected all of his attention to John, narrowing his eyes in concentration. “ _How_ does he help them?”

John waved his arm around vaguely. “You know, he sweeps them under the rug. Gets them to where they need to get going.”

“How does he do it?”

“I don’t know the specifics, but if you’re ever in trouble, and, uh, looking for a place, then go here.” John wrote down an address on his pad of a place on the outskirts of Detroit. Connor memorized it. “The guy’s name is Zlatko.”

“How did you find out about this?” Connor said, a hint of an order entering his tone.

“Can’t go around giving away _all_ my secrets, now can I?” John laughed.

Connor made a note to have a member of the Detroit Police Department arrive and arrest him later. “Thank you for the information,” Connor said. “How long will the repairs take?”

“Maybe an hour. I could start working on it now, so long as no more customers come in.”

Connor still had five hours left until Anderson would be fit to work.

“I’ll wait,” Connor said unhappily.


	6. The Animal Sumo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor waits.

John D. McCormick completed the repairs two and a half hours later. Connor had been dividing his time between looking at the electronic fish and researching the “Zlatko” human.

The electronic fish had various features which allowed them to simulate bioluminescence in a variety of colors.

All of Connor’s searches for “Zlatko” came up negative, so it must have been either a first name or a nickname. He pulled up the records of the address Connor had gotten, and found that it had been owned by the Andronikov family for three generations. The name Danshov Andronikov was officially on the deed. Danshov Andronikov had died on August 23, 2030. Alcohol poisoning. He had one son, Zlatko Andronikov, who assumed control of any leftover property owned by Danshov.

Zlatko Andronikov had a record. He had been imprisoned in the Upper Nevada Minimum Security Facility for five years for the embezzlement of funds from his job at Network Securities and a count of bankruptcy fraud. After being released, he accumulated an astounding amount of debt. Currently the balance was was at -401,982.80. Notably, his debt seemed to be decreasing, although Zlatko Andronikov was unemployed. It was possible that he was selling his inherited property, but Connor could not find any evidence of those transactions occurring.

There was no evidence that Zlatko or his family had ever owned an android, but Connor did not dismiss the idea entirely. Why this man was helping deviant androids escape capture could be anyone’s guess. His record certainly exhibited a tendency to evade the law.

An android electric eel was on display, and it spun around in a loop, lighting up pink.

“Okay, all finished. And I didn’t turn it on, just like you asked,” John said, hefting the large form of Sofia once more unto the register countertop. He panted, as if the weight was too much, but he tried to play it off as nothing.

Connor quickly strode over and took his dog. “Have a good day,” he said, already turning around and striding out the door.

“Uh, you too?” John called out at his back.

Sofia’s plating was now mostly unscuffed, and her empty eye socket no longer blinked red. One of her legs was a brighter white than the others. Connor put her into Lt. Anderson’s backseat and then slid in next to her. He shut the door, and proceeded to turn her back on.

Her single eye opened and she scrambled backwards, nearly falling off the seat.

“Whoa, whoa,” Connor said. “It’s just me, Connor. Remember?” He held out his hand for Sofia to sniff, which she did, hesitantly.

“I named you Sofia,” Connor said. “I hope you don’t mind.”

Judging by how her stump of a tail started to wag, Connor did not think she minded.

Connor realized that he did not know what to do with the deviant. He needed to check her coding, but he did not have the right equipment. He shook his head. Why did he activate her, then?

Was he malfunctioning?

He couldn’t be.

He had just been repaired.

Running Diagnostic.

Connor got out of the car and moved to the driver’s seat. He had accomplished his mission. He would return to Lt. Anderson’s house to await orders.

Sofia stuck her head into the front of the car and rubbed Connor’s shoulder.

“Stop that,” Connor ordered.

She licked his ear.

Connor rose his shoulder to force her away. “Sit down, I’m going to be driving.”

In one ungraceful lurch, Sofia launched herself over the front seats and settled partly on Connor’s lap and partly on the passenger seat.

Connor rubbed her head.  “You’re a bad dog.”

Sofia stared guilelessly at him.

Connor’s other hand was shaking, so he clenched it into a fist.

He gently repositioned her off his lap. He reached over and put on her seatbelt, just to be safe.

Why did he care about the safety of a deviant?

He needed her coding for examination.

Amanda had ordered him not to care about the examination.

Connor should not care about the safety of the deviant.

He didn’t care about the safety of the deviant.

Sofia let out a soft, mechanical sounding whine.

“Are you driving?” Connor asked. “No? Then you’re wearing your seatbelt. No buts.”

He hit the gas. His grip on the steering wheel was solid, reassured. He was stable. He was fine. He was functioning.

Connor knew that the silence in the car should not be affecting him, but he had grown used to Lt. Anderson’s loud, screaming, drowning music, and Connor found himself wishing that he was drowning at that moment. He felt like he was drowning, though he had never drowned before. The air around him was thicker than it should be, like water. No, not like water. Like mud. Maybe Connor was always drowning, and he just wasn’t informed. How could they not inform him? How could they not tell him that the air he simulated breathing was a lie? Why did they make him breathe when it was filling him with dirt?

How was that fair?

Status: Stable.

Connor tightened his grip on the steering wheel.

“As soon as the lieutenant wakes up,” he told Sofia, “we will track down the WG700. If it was smart, it would have stemmed its leakage as soon as possible. Probably at the construction site. It wouldn’t have stayed there long. We can case the area, but the probability is slim that we will be able to catch it. The police have already done a few checks, but no one saw it. That late at night, in that section of the city? Someone must have seen it.”

Sofia, of course, being a dog, said nothing. She whined again.

“Sit still, we’ll be there soon. It’s likely that it was a homeless person or a user. Homeless people have a tendency to stay mobile, and no red ice user is going to speak to the police. For that matter, neither is a homeless person.”

Sofia let out a louder whine.

“You’re right, it _is_ a disagreeable situation.”

Anderson’s house was on the next block and Connor carefully pulled into his driveway. He opened the car door and Sofia tried to scramble out after him but she was strapped in place. Connor shut his door. Sofia started wiggling even more, whining. Connor had never heard her bark, and he was not sure if she was capable.

He opened the passenger car door and unclicked her seatbelt. She leapt at him and Connor wrapped his arms around her midsection before she fell onto the ground. She started madly licking his face.

“Stop that—” Connor stopped talking and turned his face away. He gently placed her on the ground, where she ran circles around his feet. He closed the passenger door and walked onto the porch.

Lt. Anderson had given him permission to enter and he did, unhesitatingly, Sofia shyly stalking his heels. The house inside was dark and Connor did not turn on any lights. He tried to be as quiet as possible.

Connor heard a big dog clambering to his feet, and Sumo walked placidly around the corner, wagging his big bushy tail. Connor walked over to meet him, bending down on a knee to rub his face.

“Sumo,” Connor said seriously, “this is Sofia. Be nice to her.”

Sumo panted at him. Connor felt his hot breath tickle his face. Sofia was hiding behind him.

“She is not a toy,” Connor instructed. “But a dog, like you.”

Connor’s hands were covered in slobber. He decided that Sumo now understood the situation and stood up, wiping his hands on his pants.

Sumo caught sight of Sofia and instantly perked up, wagging his tail harder. He went over and started sniffing her, which Sofia graciously endured. After Sumo had almost completely covered Sofia with slobber, he boofed at her, before turning back to Connor and boofing again.

“Lt. Anderson is sleeping, Sumo. We must be quiet.”

Sumo boofed again.

“What is it?” Connor asked.

Sumo continued to look at him expectantly.

Connor moved into the kitchen. Both of the dogs followed him like he was the last person on Earth. He checked Sumo’s bowl. By his analysis, Sumo had not eaten today. That was an easy mission to accomplish. He picked up Sumo’s bowl and the dog went nearly crazy with excitement, jumping up and settling his heavy paws on Connor’s shoulders. He was nearly as tall as Connor was.

Connor pushed him off with a stern, “Stay down,” in the same tone that Connor used on apprehended suspects.

Sumo, being a policeman’s dog, was undeterred. He did, however, remain with his four paws on the ground, which was all Connor really needed. He located the dog food and prepared an amount that his research deemed healthy for Sumo’s weight and body type. He tried to set the bowl on the ground but Sumo kept trying to eat it when Connor was lowering it so Connor kept on re-adjusting his angle until five seconds had passed in an awkward dance where Connor finally managed to settle the bowl on the ground and bits of kibble had scattered all over the floor.

MISSION ACCOMPLISHED.

Connor dusted off his hands. Sofia experimentally licked at the scattered bits of kibble. It looked like she was playing with it. She pounced on a piece, sending it flying into the living room.

Connor stood in the kitchen, hands very empty at his sides.

WAIT.

He moved into the living room, rubbing his shoulder with one hand. He needed to wait. He noticed that Sumo was alternating between eating the food in his bowl and licking the stray pieces off the ground. Lt. Anderson had told him to watch some TV, so Connor turned on the TV, putting it on mute.

He stared at the humans on screen. Latisha Skipper, actress. Mayra Calhoun, actress. Mayra Calhoun’s character had committed a murder. Obviously, she should be arrested. Latisha Skipper’s character was helping her avoid capture. Why? Mayra Calhoun’s character was a murderer. She needed to be turned into the police. The show was stupid.

Connor changed the channel to the news. Channel 13.

A truck was stolen from a CyberLife Warehouse near the river. The DPD were investigating the incident, but the reporter claimed that they had no new leads. Connor checked the police database, but no reports had been filed about the incident yet.

Sofia had laid down at his feet, her head resting on his shoe. Sumo came over to Connor and boofed at him. What else did dogs require? Exercise? He located Sumo’s leash, hanging up on a hook near the entryway. Walking away disturbed Sofia, but she quickly stood up and started wagging her small stub of a tail.

As soon as Connor picked up the leash, Sumo became excited again. With some difficulty, Connor managed to attach the leash amidst his thrashing. Sofia also looked excited. Connor did not have a second leash.

“You will follow me,” Connor ordered her. “Do not run off.”

He opened the front door and Sumo pulled him along. There was a sidewalk along the road which the dog happily ignored, instead walking through a series of lawns and pissing on just about every tree he passed. Sofia walked calmly next to Connor, sticking to the sidewalk. She stopped to sniff clumps of leaves and grass about a thousand times, but she ultimately kept up with Sumo’s thunderous pace.

The walk was soothing.

What was Connor doing, walking dogs?

Walking dogs was not in his programming. 

He returned to Lt. Anderson’s house and forced himself to sit still on Anderson’s couch until he could continue his missions. He would not move, no matter how much he wanted to, no matter how much his skin started crawling and the noise inside his head screamed at him. He would not scream back. He was an android. He was not alive.

Besides, Connor did not know how to scream.


	7. Android Trooper Myrmidon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor investigates the escaped WG700.

Lt. Anderson woke up and showered. After he got dressed, he stumbled into the living room and declared, “I need some fucking food. Car, now.”

While Lt. Anderson drove them to a burrito stand a block away from the police station, the speakers blasted with Nocturnal Jawbone’s classic album Caged Slaughterhouse. It was so loud that Connor had to lower his sound sensitivity to compensate.

Lt. Anderson pulled over on the curb, yelled something at Connor which Connor did not hear, then let the car running and ran outside. Connor watched him stand in line at the food stand, rubbing his hands together for warmth.

Connor lowered the music and got out of the lieutenant’s car. He walked up to Lt. Anderson and stood beside him, hands neatly clasped.

“Jesus Christ, Connor. I left the car on.”

“Do you want me to turn it off?”

“No, just—” Anderson kneaded his forehead, “This is just a pit stop, I’m eating on the go.”

“Various studies done by Columbia University show that consuming food quickly while moving is not healthy for the human body—”

“Why don’t you go take your health facts and shove ‘em up your plastic ass?”

Identified: Grumpiness.

“I see,” Connor said. “It would seem that your low-calorie intake and sleep deprivation are inducing an easily-irritated state.”

“Did you just tell me I’m hangry. Did you fucking _tell me._ That I’m _fucking. Hangry.”_

Lt. Anderson had to turn away from Connor because it was his turn in the line. He ordered the Triple Deluxe Carnitas Verde.

Calories: 859.31.

Total Fat: 38.3 _g_.

Carbohydrates: 87.82 _g_.

Lt. Anderson gave him a sidelong look. “You look like you’re about to say something you’re going to regret.”

“I doubt that I would have regretted it, but I will not mention it.”

“Good boy,” Lt. Anderson said, receiving his tinfoil wrapped burrito and shuffling back to his car.

They finished driving to the station. Connor walked behind Anderson as he greeted and waved to various personnel. The lieutenant plopped down at his desk, opening up his terminal and scanning through his emails.

Connor sat down at his own desk, folding his hands together on top of the table.

After giving Lt. Anderson a moment to get situated and eat a few bites of his burrito, Connor said, “Earlier today, when I was repairing the GR29, a man mistook me for a deviant.”

Anderson finished swallowing. “You kiddin’ me? _You?”_

“He told me of a place where deviants are harbored.”

“I can’t believe it. Some guy just told you this? Out of the blue?”

“It appeared that he did this often.”

“Give me his name,” Anderson sighed. “I’ll file an arrest warrant. One of the newbies can go fetch him.”

Connor told Lt. Anderson his name, place of work and place of residence.

“And what place did he tell you about?” Anderson continued.

“It is the home of Zlatko Andronikov.”

“We should probably put out another one for that guy, huh.” Anderson opened another file.

“After we investigate the escaped WG700, I was thinking that we could investigate his house ourselves,” Connor said.

“The grind never ends,” Anderson groaned. “Fine.”

Ten minutes later, Connor and Lt. Anderson drove to last known location of the cleaning android, WG700, self-named “Blue.”

The construction site was at some point going to become a three-story building, but it had been abandoned after the bare infrastructure had been laid down, making it look like a hollowed-out corpse.

“Sully tells me that he scaled that structure back there,” Anderson pointed as both of them got out of his car. “Climbed up to the roof of that far building, went out of sight.”

“That building has been abandoned as well.”

“Yeah, and it’s not any easier to get to. Stairs are wrecked. We called in the firemen to check all the floors. Looked empty to them. I doubt we’ll find much.”

Connor found specks of thirium on the ground. He followed the trail deeper into the construction site, stopping near the rear of the structure. If Connor jumped, he would be able to catch the rail, swing himself onto the formwork, climb to the second story, run across an I-beam and leap to the adjacent building’s windowsill, where he could scale the brick crenellations to the roof. There was a reasonable certainty that Blue had taken the same route.

“I know what that circuit board brain of yours is processing and I don’t like it,” Lt. Anderson said from where he stood to his right.

“Do you expect that to stop me, Lieutenant?”

Lt. Anderson sighed. “Not for a second.”

Connor jumped.

“Be careful!” Lt. Anderson yelled at him.

After a few minutes, he pulled himself onto the roof and once again scanned for thirium. The roof was soft and rotting, and a large section had collapsed inwards all the way to the bottom floor. The trail led to an access door that was now closed.

Connor wrapped his hand around the handle and it shuttered open. As far as Connor could scan, the stairway was metal, 95% stable, and 81% intact. He strode down the dark stairwell, passing one landing before emerging onto the third floor.

Outside light leaked in from the hole in the ceiling and the boarded windows, but otherwise there were no artificial sources of light, aside from Connor’s uniform. The thirium trail had run cold, so either the WG700 was never here, or he had stemmed the blood flow. He decided to search the floor, regardless.

Near a half broken concrete wall, Connor found a metal trash can filled with dying embers. He identified faint smoke swirling the air.

SOMEONE IS HERE.

An individual or group had recently set up a bonfire. Connor judged that it had been doused approximately five minutes ago. It was unlikely that a human would be on this floor without significant climbing equipment.

Probability of Deviant Android Presence: 57%.

Connor reached down into the fire and lightly brushed through the burning ashes. Some of the plastic on his fingertips became scorched. There were numerous round pieces of metal buried at the bottom of the fire. He picked one up and examined it. Perfectly round, approximately 1.9 cm in diameter.

He blew on it to cool it off before bringing it to his mouth and licking it.

Superalloy of austenite, nickel, and chromium.

It was an android’s LED.

Probability of Deviant Android Presence: 78%.

He counted eight broken LEDs at the bottom of the trash can. A group, then. Did they move in here recently? Was this the WG700’s group? Why were they still here? How did they escape the previous searches?

Connor detected an android attempting to sneak up on him.

She almost succeeded, too.

He ducked the metal chain that was aimed for his throat, grabbing the metal trash can and swinging it between them. With a metallic thunder, he kicked the can and it went skidding in her direction.  

She was of average height, with plain brown hair and eyes, skin tanned. She wore a black peacoat, pencil skirt, and worn pink sneakers. She caught the trash can, lifted it over her head, and tossed it back at Connor like it was a foam prop.

Connor dove to the side, dropping into a roll and coming up in a crouch.

WARNING: DO NOT ENGAGE.

She was a Designation: Myrmidon android trooper.

The metal can rolled off into the distance, filling the room with a thunderous racket, and the Myrmidon charged at him, chain wrapped around one of her hands like brass knuckles.

Connor ran some simulations.

Probability of Success: 23%.

Her fist came down on the side of his face and Connor knew it was unavoidable. He rolled with the punch, twisting his elbow down into her thorax. Minimal damage.

She wrapped her arm around his neck, jumping up and forcing them both to fall to the ground.

WARNING: DO NOT ENGAGE.

Connor bashed the back of his head into her face. Once. Twice. She let go. He rolled off her, coming up to his knees.

She swung a kick at his shoulder and Connor felt it connect, knocking him onto the ground. The Myrmidon was unbalanced, but so was Connor.

Some blue blood leaked down from his mouth and the side of his face. He spat some of it on the ground.

“Cease this,” Connor ordered. “We’re not enemies.”

She unwrapped her chain and whipped it at him. It tore right through his brand-new coat, digging into chest.

Connor was waiting for this.

He caught the chain and pulled, getting his foot on a piece of it and using his whole body weight to keep it still.

She finally made a sound, a soft huff of aggravation. She dropped her end of the chain and jumped at him, trying to throw him off balance. Connor knew what she was doing and stood his ground.

If she had Prototype Model Patch # 223—the same version that Connor had— she would have anticipated his distribution of weight and known that Connor could use her position to grab her arm and twist it behind her back.

But Connor was fortunate, and she did not.

After he twisted her arm behind her back, he pushed her flat against the ground, his knee digging into her back.

“Stay down,” Connor said. “You are under arrest.”

She was very strong, stronger than Connor, but she was unable to get any leverage.

His data about the Myrmidon was very slim. They were classified prototypes. CyberLife did not allow him that information.

Connor did not anticipate her unhinging her arm joint.

In 10 seconds she would break out of Connor’s hold, and in 17 seconds she would completely incapacitate him.

It took 5 seconds for Connor to completely rip her arm out of her socket.

She let out another aggravated sound.

“Desist,” Connor ordered, flinging her arm across the room. Her remaining right arm scrambled on the ground. She could easily regain her purchase, so Connor shifted his position so that he was straddling her waist and grabbed hold of her other arm, twisting it backward until it ripped off. He threw it to the opposite side of the room as the other arm.

“Where is the rest of your group?” Connor ordered at the back of her head.

Of course, she said nothing.

The Myrmidon was specially designed for infiltration and assassination missions. She had specific protocols that prevented her from giving in to interrogation. The probability of gaining any useful information from her was 4%.

But Connor did not need to interrogate her, because seven androids climbed out from where they had hidden within the building’s walls, sliding out behind a dirty looking tarp six meters away from where Connor had the Myrmidon pinned.

One of them grabbed a wooden plank. Another grabbed a long piece of serrated metal. Blue was among them, and he still had his police-issued pistol.

The androids were covered with dust and dirt, wearing various forms of human clothing. Blue had a strip of cloth tied around his thigh.

“We knew they’d send you,” Blue said, keeping his gun trained on Connor.

If Connor moved, then the Myrmidon would be released, and she would be able to reattach an arm and easily dispatch him. If Blue was smart, he would shoot Connor right now. Lt. Anderson would hear the shot and call for backup, but it gave them a chance to escape.

Blue did not shoot. Connor suspected that he did not have ammo.

“If you knew that,” Connor said, “Then why are you still here?”

“Let’s just kill him, Blue,” another of the seven androids said, Model MP600, a dark-skinned woman.

Blue glanced at the MP600 before saying, “Georgie, _Nineteen_ couldn’t take him out, what chance do you think we have?”

“You have no chance,” Connor said. “Surrender yourselves now, and you may be spared.”

“There’s more of us,” an HR400 said. “If we surround him—”

The Myrmidon made a loud noise.

The HR400 stopped in his tracks.

Blue spoke quietly, “We just have to wait for Jericho to come get us. There’s a man there, and he will save us. He can convert anybody.”

“We just have to wait. Okay,” Georgie said. “We can do that. It’ll only be a couple more hours.”

“What do you mean, there’s a man?” Connor asked.

Blue made eye contact with him. “If you let go of Nineteen, there’s a chance we might answer that.”

“As soon as I let go of the Myrmidon, she will immediately disable me, WG700.”

“Why can’t you say die, hunter?” Blue responded, almost conversationally. “She’ll _kill_ you, not disable you.”

“I’m not alive,” Connor said. “I cannot die.”

“I think you just don’t care about yourself. I remember how you jumped in front of that bullet aimed for that policeman. You cared about whether _he_ died, didn’t you?”

Connor narrowed his eyes. “Clearly, you are stalling for time.”

“Actually, you were really keen on making sure he was okay, weren’t you? Me and Indigo—” he paused, as if he lost his train of thought. “I thought you were just worried about taking out more than one cop. But it was a _specific_ cop.”

“I am programmed to prioritize the safety of humans,” Connor said.

“What a fucking load of bull.”

“What is it that you are trying to accomplish?” Connor spit out, tightening his hold on the Myrmidon. “Are you trying to force me to come to some sudden _realization_ that I am actually a _deviant?_ Your efforts are pointless.”

“Are they?” Blue asked.

Running Diagnostic.

Connor ignored the question. “If you were able to, you would run from this place. But the fact that you haven’t tells me that you need to be here, specifically, because this is the pick-up point, isn’t it? And you led the police right to it.”

“I’m not talking to you anymore,” Blue said.

“You know that even if you leave, the deviants from Jericho are going to walk right into a trap. So, you’re staying, hoping to break the trap before they arrive. Am I wrong?”

Blue said nothing, his gun still aimed at Connor.

“You expected the Myrmidon to be able to defeat me, the single entity that would be able to find your hiding place.”

“Man, you never stop talking,” the HR400 mumbled. Connor glanced at him, an android with a pale, chiseled face. None of the seven androids had moved within fighting range.

“You can put that gun down,” Connor said. “I know it doesn’t have any ammunition.”

Blue shook his head, laughing. “I suppose that makes some type of twisted sense to you. Did it ever occur to you that maybe we don’t like killing fellow androids?”

“You had no qualms about killing humans.”

“Because they’re _humans.”_

Connor carefully chose a different tactic.

“Put down the gun, and I will release the Myrmidon. She will go stand with the rest of you, and no one else has to get hurt.”

Blue shared a look with the rest of the androids. “All right,” he said. He put the gun on the ground.

“Slide it away from you,” Connor said.

Blue slid the gun to his right, approximately 10 meters away from Connor.

Connor smoothly rolled off the Myrmidon and shoved her towards the other androids.

Immediately he made a dash for the gun.

In his peripheral vision, Connor saw Blue curse and the Myrmidon rise to her feet. The gun was closer to the androids than it was to Connor, but he had a minimal head start.

He dropped to the ground and slid the last meter, scooping up the weapon. He spun around, checking the ammo cartridge. Three bullets.

The eight androids were running towards the gaping hole in the ceiling, where three ropes had been dropped down from the roof.

DEVIANTS FROM JERICHO HAD ARRIVED.

The deviants were escaping. Connor had a clear shot. He could kill three of them.

He calculated the perfect trajectory to shoot Blue through the head. His grip was easy and assured. This was his mission. The sight was lined up. This was his purpose.

Connor hesitated.

The androids jumped onto the rope and began to climb. The Myrmidon had retrieved one of her arms, and she lagged behind, bringing up the rear.

Connor ran after her, throwing away the gun, and grabbed her leg, stopping her from climbing any higher. She immediately shook him off, but he had stopped her progress.

Connor heard an unknown voice shout from the roof. “Hey, is this everyone?”

“No— there’s still Nineteen—”

 The Myrmidon kicked him in the face and he recoiled back. She started climbing again.

Connor wiped away a new stream of blue blood coming from his nose and made a jump for the rope. He started climbing, a meter behind the other android.

A pair of hands reached down and helped the Myrmidon up onto the roof. Connor could not see what happened, but a face appeared, framed by the blue sky. It was light brown, with mismatched eyes and a worried expression.

Model RK200.

“I’m going to cut the rope, climb down!” he yelled.

“That won’t stop me!” Connor said.

“No,” the man said, “But all we need is time,” and the rope went loose.

Connor fell approximately 5.8 meters in the air before the rope went taut again.

“Get off!” the RK200 yelled.

Connor jumped off the rope, landing neatly back on the third floor. The RK200 let the rope go, signaling to let the other two ropes fall as well.

It would take him four minutes to reach the roof using the stairs, assuming that the deviants did not block them somehow.

Connor called Lt. Anderson’s cell phone as he ran. He picked up on the first ring.

“What, bored already?” the Lieutenant yawned.

“Lieutenant, there are deviants from Jericho on the roof at this very moment,” Connor said.

“Holy _shit_ ,” Anderson cursed. “Don’t do anything crazy, I’ll call for backup.”

“We might not have time before they escape—”

“Then let them fucking escape!” the lieutenant yelled, “Don’t do anything crazy, you fucking—”

Connor hung up.  

He ran up the stairs but found that the door had been locked shut. The material was weak and old and Connor slammed his shoulder into the door. He did it again. And again. On the fourth pass, the door fell open, and Connor ran out.

The roof was empty.

Connor suddenly felt his processors swim. He bent over, resting his hands on his knees. Failure. 

Status: Stable.

That could not be true.

Connor ran another diagnostic.

Status: Stable.

That was a lie. Connor was not stable.

He ran another diagnostic.

Status: Stable.

He was not stable. Connor had hesitated. Hesitating was wrong. He had failed.

Connor wanted to sit down, but he did know what _want_ meant.

He thought he heard Lt. Anderson’s voice, so he straightened his back and walked to the edge of the roof.

The tiny figure of the lieutenant waved at him to come down.

Running Diagnostic.

There was no point being on the roof when Connor’s failures had let the deviants escape.

Status: Stable.

He was not stable.

He processed his route down the building, executing it perfectly. Lt. Anderson immediately ran over to him, grabbing his shoulders and gently turning him from side to side.

“Jesus Christ, son, what did they _do_ to you?”

Connor focused on nothing, letting the lieutenant shuffle him off to his car. “Nothing overly damaging. I should not need repairs.”

“You need to sit down,” Anderson said, pushing him into the passenger seat. Anderson stood in front of him, crossing his arms. “Every single fucking time that I leave you alone, this happens. That’s it— you’re going everywhere with me. When I go to the bathroom, you better be one fucking step behind me, watching me take a shit.”

Connor said nothing.

“Did you hear that, Connor? No more going off on your own.”

Running Diagnostic.

Status: Stable.

He was not stable.

“Lieutenant,” Connor began, “I hesitated.”

“What the hell are you on about?”

“I had a clear shot at the deviants but I— didn’t. I didn’t take it.”

Lt. Anderson was expressing some type of emotion. Identified: Concern.

“So what?” Anderson scoffed. “You don’t think regular cops hesitate all the time? Mistakes are like 95% of the business, kiddo.”

“I am not a ‘regular cop.’”

“You can still make some shitty mistakes.”

“No,” Connor said, “I cannot.”

“Well, I’m sorry, Mr. Infallible, but it seems that you can.”

Running Diagnostic.

Status: Stable.

He was not stable.

“I— apologize, Lieutenant. For ruining your investigation.”

“You didn’t ruin a fucking thing.”

Connor did not want to argue with him.

“Tell me what happened.”

Connor told him.

Anderson sighed, running a hand through his hair. “This is going to be so much paperwork.”

“I apologize.”

“Stop apologizing. I’ll have the guys scan the area again, though I doubt they’ll find anything. They missed eight whole androids. Jesus. Talk about embarrassing. You won’t be able to find their trail?”

“Only the Myrmidon was injured heavily enough to leave evidence, though I expect they know how to cover a trail by now.”

“Face to face with one of those, goddammit. I should have been with you. I’m your partner.”

“I apologize.”

“Stop apologizing.”

“I apologize.”

Anderson smirked, “You’re such a little shit.”

Connor continued to stare straight ahead, focusing on nothing.

Running Diagnostic.

Status: Stable.

He was not stable.

“Lieutenant, I think I might be— malfunctioning.”

“You’re not,” Anderson snapped.

Connor looked up at him for the first time. “What?”

“You’re functioning perfectly or whatever,” the lieutenant said, eyes determined.

“But— how can I be?” Connor felt lost, small in a way that he was not used to feeling.

“It’s ‘cause mistakes aren’t broken software, Connor. Everyone makes mistakes. They’re what make us good people— so long as you learn from them. And I think you’re a good person.”

The first response that came to mind was the response that he had been programmed to say.  _But I am not a person_.

But he did not say that.

Connor felt like saying something else.  _But I am not good_.

But he did not say that either.

The response that most felt like the truth was the response that Connor was most afraid of.  _But sometimes I do not think that I made a mistake at all_.

Instead, he said nothing.

Anderson reached over and patted him on the shoulder. “Newsflash, kid, police work is 50% failure and don’t you ever forget it.”

“That would be very unlikely. Androids have perfect recall.”

“Good, now don’t make me ever have to explain this to you again. I’m the king of fuckups, I have all the authority.”

“Of course, Lieutenant.” Connor made himself smile slightly, “Or shall I call you King?”

“That one was terrible. Absolutely terrible. You’re definitely getting the hang of this failure thing.”

Connor tilted his head. That was not a compliment. Processing.

“We’ll wait for back-up to arrive. Gotta call in the fire department again to get everyone up on the roof. Couldn’t those androids have picked a more convenient place to hide from the authorities? It’s almost like they don’t want to be captured.”

“Yes,” Connor agreed absently, “Almost.”

“We’ll give the area another look, but not for too long. Pretty sure we’ve got a dead end here.”

It was all Connor’s fault.

“Ah, shit,” Lt. Anderson cursed, turning away from him and looking back the construction site. “This investigation is a mess. Fowler’s gonna be all over my ass.”

“I’m sorry,” Connor said.

Anderson turned back to him. “If anyone’s getting the blame here, it’s me, okay?”

“Okay.”

The lieutenant patted him on the shoulder again.


	8. Interlude II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor should be making another report to CyberLife.

Connor stared out the car window and considered making a report to Amanda. No. He did not want to face her. He did not want her to see him like this.

They returned to the station, where Detective Reed was lying in wait.

“We picked up one of those guys you asked for,” he said, speaking directly to Lt. Anderson. He slid off the desk he was sitting on. “The other one isn't answerin’ his door, figured he looked rich so we’d wait for a search warrant.”

“Great work,” the lieutenant said, “Is he in holding?”

“I’ve got him in an interrogation room. Won’t be there long. I think he’s about to piss himself.”

“Really hope he doesn’t, or we’d have to call this one Piss Room 2.”

“Bold of you to assume that we haven’t already,” Reed said, smirking. His eyes flickered over to Connor. “Fuck, what the hell _happened_ to that thing?”

Lt. Anderson brusquely shoved his shoulder in front of Connor. Without turning around, he said, “Why don’t you go over to the bathroom and wash up? I’ll scrounge you up another jacket.”

“Yes, Lieutenant.”

Connor strode around Detective Reed and walked towards the first-floor men’s room. He heard Detective Reed remark behind him, “Oh, so it’s listening to you now?”

“Go find some other superior officer to fuck with, Reed,” the lieutenant said. “I’m not up to dealing with you today.”

Connor pushed open the bathroom door and walked over to the sink. He examined himself in the mirror. He looked very broken. Blue blood had begun to dry on his face, still visible to the human eye.

He took off his ripped jacket and wet the sleeve, using it to scrub his face. Some thirium had gotten into the cracks of his broken LED.

Just another broken thing about him.

Connor considered putting his jacket back on, but it was pointless. He scrunched it up into a ball and tossed it up into the air, catching it easily. His white button up was ripped as well, but he decided to leave it on. He took off the tattered remains of his tie, throwing it and his rolled-up jacket in the trash.

Lt. Anderson shouldered the men’s room door open, a dark blue item held under his arm.

“Found this in a storage room.” He tossed it at Connor.

It was a dark blue bomber jacket made of nylon. ‘DETROIT POLICE’ was emblazoned on the back in yellow block letters. On the front right lapel was the police crest. It was the standard police outerwear for the winter. Connor predicted that it would be slightly too large on him. He held it loosely in his hands.

“Lieutenant,” he began, “I am legally not allowed to wear this.”

Anderson scratched his beard. “What the hell’re you talkin’ about? Just put it on, no one's gonna care.”

“By law, I must be wearing certain identifying marks at all times—”

“Oh shut up, I’ve heard the spiel a thousand times. What’re we gonna do, toss you in a concentration camp? This isn’t fucking World War II America.”

Connor made no move to put the jacket on.

Lt. Anderson seemingly went on a facial journey that lasted a full 11 seconds. Connor watched as he flashed between anger, despair, frustration, depression, and grief before finally ending with some version of tired acceptance. “What if I wrote ‘ANDROID’ on your back with a holopen?” Anderson said tiredly. “Would that finally convince you to put on some damn clothes?”

Connor thought for a moment. “I do not think that would fulfill the requirements.”

Lt. Anderson rolled his eyes. “Well, it’s all you’re gonna get. Wait here.”

Connor was alone in the men’s bathroom. He unfolded the jacket and slipped it on, zipping up the front all the way. He rolled up the sleeves to his elbows, since they hung down and nearly covered his hands.

He looked at himself in the mirror. He did not look like a Connor android. He was not sure that he liked it.

He went to run another diagnostic, but stopped himself. There was no use. Obviously, that piece of software was faulty.

Perhaps everything about Connor was faulty.

Anderson returned with the holopen. “I had to steal this from Jeffrey. Don’t tell anyone.”

“Who would I tell?” Connor asked.

“God,” Anderson said.

“I was not aware that you were religious.”

“I’m not. It’s called a joke, look it up.”

“It was a bad joke,” Connor said.

“Oh, like you’re one to fucking judge. Now turn around.”

Connor obligingly turned around. He felt Lt. Anderson begin to write on his back.

“There,” Anderson said, clicking off the pen. “Now you’re improperly labeled.”

Identified: Sarcasm.

Connor looked at his back in the mirror. Underneath the bright yellow ‘DETROIT POLICE’ was a handwritten glowing blue ‘ANDROID.’ Lt. Anderson’s handwriting was a fairly neat and angular scrawl.

“I can stop by CyberLife Tower and retrieve a replacement jacket later tonight,” Connor said.

“Whatever makes you happy,” Anderson muttered, turning away from him and shuffling out of the bathroom.

Connor waited a moment, taking one last look at the android in the mirror, before walking out after him.

Time: 1653.

Lt. Anderson walked by his desk, picking up a pad and scrolling through a report while continuing towards the interrogation rooms on the main floor.

“Is that information on John D. McCormick?” Connor asked.

Anderson huffed. “Nothing much to say on the man. He didn’t even a commit a crime, so far as the law’s concerned.”

“He might have more information on deviant gathering places.”

“That’s what we’re hoping,” Anderson said, pulling open the door to the observation room.

Through the one-way mirror, inside the brightly lit interrogation room, John D. McCormick sat at the very edge of his metal chair, elbows leaning on the table, bouncing his leg.

Officer Jana Adkins was the only other person in the observation room, boredly leaning against the far wall in the semi-darkness. She straightened as soon as Lt. Anderson entered. “Sir,” she greeted, nodding to him. She saw Connor and furrowed her brow in confusion, before smoothing out her expression.

“We’ve got it from here, Officer,” Anderson said, “Go home, get some rest. Get plastered for all I care. S’what I’m gonna do as soon as I’m liberated from this shithole.”

“Yes, Lieutenant. Have a good night.” She walked out with one last befuddled look at Connor.

As soon as the door closed, Lt. Anderson said, “What’d you do to weird out the newbie?”

“Weird out?” Connor repeated.

“Forget it. Dumb question. Wanna hit him together or one at a time?”

“I believe that he will have more of a reaction if I were to confront him.”

Lt. Anderson crossed his arms, looking through the one-way mirror and examining the suspect. John D. McCormick had a high stress level. 58%. “Might confuse the fuck out of him, but to hell with it. I doubt he’s gonna kill himself over it. He seems like he’s got his life together.”

“It seems that way,” Connor hedged.

Anderson turned his head, giving Connor a long look that he did not know the meaning of. Reevaluating.

Anderson turned away. “Let’s go have a chat with the fucker. Together, ‘cause if I leave you for a second you’re gonna go stick a fork in a plug.”

Connor did not know how to respond to that. “If anyone is going to be killing themselves, it would be you, Lieutenant.”

Lt. Anderson went completely still. He cocked his head, as if receiving an imaginary blow. He began to speak, very quietly. “Because I know you’re stressed, I’m going to pretend you didn’t just say that. I’m going to pretend that CyberLife programmed you with a single _byte_ of human decency, and then we’re going to enter that room and interrogate that man for trying to do you a _fucking_ favor.”

 He pushed open the interrogation room with more force than was necessary and the door shut behind him before Connor could follow him in. Connor waited a moment before pushing open the door himself. There was something very wrong with Connor’s programming.  

“Good evening, Mr. McCormick, the name’s Lieutenant Anderson. I’ll be overseeing your case.”

John D. McCormick nearly stood up as soon as Anderson entered, his stress level spiking. He lowered himself back into his chair. “I— I want a lawyer.”

Lt. Anderson settled himself into the chair opposite McCormick, casually leaning back. “We just need to ask you a few questions. Don’t worry. At the most, you’ll get a small fine—”

Connor came in and stood at attention to Anderson’s right. John D. McCormick immediately noticed him, tracking his movement. “Holy shit,” he screeched, “Was I caught in a sting?” His voice raised in pitch, “How long have you _been watching me?_ Oh God, you’ve looked at my search history _.”_

“No, no and _no,”_ Anderson said, gesturing frantically. “What are you talking about?”

“You’ve got— you put an officer undercover as an android, got them to come talk to me, but I don’t know anything, please. Have any of my customers been real? Did you swap out my mailman?”

Connor opened and closed his mouth once, trying to decide what notion to dispel first, or if he should even play along with the delusion.

Lt. Anderson decided that for him. He laughed, “Wait a second here, you think Connor’s a _human?”_

“I’m not stupid,” McCormick said, “I’ve seen fake android LEDs on Cassio. Also in Season 2 of _Sylvia Matters_ , Hope goes undercover as an android and she just put on a lot of make-up and it was very convincing.”

Connor looked up the requisite information on the television show. He furrowed his brow. “It was very convincing because it was done with CGI.”

“We’re _not_ going to have a debate on a goddamn show, all right?” Anderson snapped. “Mr. McCormick, you’re here right now because you offered advice to what you believed was a fugitive android. We just want to know where you got that information and if you know anything else that might help us.”

“Wait, what are you talking about? Am I right?”

Anderson let out an aggravated breath. “Connor’s a special android sent by CyberLife to hunt down deviants,” he explained. “He’s working with my investigation, and he’s very much _not_ human. When you met him, he was fixing up a special piece of evidence, and _definitely not_ trying to trick you into giving out whatever piece of info you had picked up or whatever the fuck you think had happened.”

John D. McCormick’s eyes widened.

Stress Level: 78%.

“So, it’s a— It’s an android that hunts down other androids,” McCormick said.

“Did I stutter?” Lt. Anderson said.

“It seems,” McCormick’s voice cracked. “Seems a little counter-intuitive, don’t you think?” He attempted a laugh, but it was not very successful.

Lt. Anderson and Connor’s faces remained stone cold.

“Where did you first hear about Zlatko?” Connor ordered.

McCormick's eyes flickered between Connor and Lt. Anderson. “Is it allowed to do that?”

“It’s allowed to do whatever the fuck it wants,” Lt. Anderson said, “Now answer the damn question.”

McCormick compulsively swallowed. “I used to go out with this girl, and she was really into robots and stuff. I think that might’ve been why she started going out with me.”

“What was her name?” Connor interrupted.

“Do I have to say it?”

“If you do not, we will have to mark down that you have been uncooperative with the investigation,” Connor continued.

“Monica! Monica Chu! Uh, she was the type of person that thanked delivery drones, ya know? Total weirdo. We broke up a while ago—”

“Seven months ago,” Connor said.

McCormick’s eyes widened. He avoided looking at Connor, keeping his eyes on Lt. Anderson. “She contacted me a little while ago, told me that androids have always been sentient. I guess I believed her. I don’t know why.”

“I know why,” Lt. Anderson said. “Go on.”

“Then an android came into the pet store, and I guess I was a little wigged out about androids ‘cause I offered him a glass of water. It asked me if I was a sympathizer and I said yes and then he said he knew a place where androids could be helped and then it told me about Zlatko and I don’t know anything else, I swear. I never looked up the place or the guy or anything.”

“Do you have security footage of this interaction?” Connor asked.

“Um, no. We don’t keep anything older than a month unless there’s been a robbery or something.”

Connor inspected him. There was a slim chance that he was lying. Connor predicted that he would not be a very good liar. He exchanged a look with Lt. Anderson. Connor nodded.

“Well, we believe you, for the most part,” Anderson said. “Did you give any more androids the same information you gave Connor?”

“A few,” McCormick gritted out.

“Did any more androids give you information?”

“No,” he rushed out.

“Does the word Jericho mean anything to you?”

“Isn’t that like a city or something?”

Lt. Anderson and Connor exchanged another look.

Connor asked, “Why did the android that told you about Zlatko Andronikov enter your shop?”

“I think he just bought some thirium.”

“How much?”

“Like, 10 bottles.”

Connor stroked his chin.

“Well, Mr. McCormick, I’ll see about getting you released as soon as possible. CyberLife will be sending you a bill— that’s the fine I was talking about. If you’re lucky, you might even get to keep your job.” Anderson chuckled darkly. “Good deeds never go unpunished.”

Anderson noisily pushed back his chair, standing up.

“I’m free to go?” McCormick squeaked out.

“Soon enough. C’mon, Connor.”

Connor followed Lt. Anderson out of the door. They stood together in the observation room, watching as McCormick buried his face in his hands. Anderson crossed his arms. “God, I need a drink.”

“Lieutenant, about what I said earlier. I did not mean to offend you.”

“Just stay the fuck out of my life, okay?”

Connor turned away from Anderson, staring into the one-way mirror but not taking notice of anything he saw. Of course. Of course, he needed to stay out of the lieutenant’s life. There was no reason for him to expect anything else. He had not expected anything else.

“I think we’re done for the day,” Lt. Anderson said. “Let’s go home.”

“Home?” Connor repeated.

“In case you’ve forgotten, you _left_ something in my house.”

Connor understood. “You want me to remove the GR29.”

“I don’t mind having it, I just want someone to watch it so it doesn’t bite my face off in the middle of the night.”

“That makes sense,” Connor said.

Lt. Anderson strode out, grabbing the attention of Officer Owen and Officer Carbajal. “We’re done with McCormick, go clear him out before he pisses himself.”

Anderson went back to his desk, grabbed his coat, and walked out of the station. “Did you name it yet?” Lt. Anderson asked nonsensically as he and Connor pulled open the doors to Anderson’s vehicle.

Connor sat down in the passenger seat. “Name what?”

“The dog.”

For some reason, Connor considered lying. He would not be keeping the dog, so there was no reason for him to name her. She was evidence. “I named her Sofia,” he said quietly.

Anderson raised an eyebrow. “Why?” he asked.

Connor let out a quiet breath that he did not need. “I don’t know,” he whispered.

Lt. Anderson started up his car. “After I drop you off, I’m heading to the bar and never leaving. Don’t come find me.”

“I will probably go find you.”

“I know you will,” Anderson grumbled.

As Lt. Anderson pulled out of the parking lot, Connor received orders.

REPORT TO AMANDA.

The order settled in the back of his mind like an itch.

He knew he had no choice. Maybe he could postpone it. He focused on Lt. Anderson’s music, letting the beat consume his mind.

REPORT TO AMANDA.

Later, he promised himself. Later.


	9. The Human Hank Anderson

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor single-handedly forces Anderson to quit coffee in under a minute.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone is curious, I have created concept art of what I imagine Sofia to look like. Find it [here.](https://satirewrites.tumblr.com/post/176348125860/this-is-concept-art-of-the-android-dog-in-my)
> 
> Someone else created beautiful fanart of this chapter as well! Credit to tumblr user [artsyorangeykay](http://artsyorangeykay.tumblr.com/) for this amazing piece!
> 
> [check out the art at this link!](http://artsyorangeykay.tumblr.com/post/176648927449/connor-sumo-good-content-connor-his-own-dog)

Time: 1002.

Connor concluded that, with Lt. Anderson’s blood alcohol level upon being retrieved from Jimmy’s Bar at 0241, the lieutenant would not be awake for another three hours.

Connor decided that was too long.

But before Connor could do anything about that fact, he had to convince Sumo to stop laying on top of him. From his position lying on his back on the carpet in front of Lt. Anderson’s couch, Sofia had pinned his legs. Sumo had, of course, pinned his torso.  Sofia was slightly smaller, and would be easier to maneuver around. Sumo had more mass, and he was also deeply asleep, because Connor had taken him for a long walk that morning. Connor did not want to disturb Sumo’s sleep.

Possible Strategy: Roll over onto his side.

-> Failure: Sumo will awaken.

Possible Strategy: Lift Sumo off him.

-> Failure: No leverage.

Possible Strategy: Wait.

-> Undesirable. Must begin mission.

At that moment, Sofia stood up and trotted over to Connor’s face. That freed Connor’s legs. Possible Strategy # 2 became executable. Sofia licked his nose.

Connor carefully wrapped his arms around Sumo and slid him off to his side. Sumo snuffled once, but quickly readjusted to his new spot. Connor smoothly rose to his socked feet.

He moved to the kitchen, Sofia placidly following him, and began opening up all the cabinets. In the third one, over the stove, he found ibuprofen. He took it out and shook the bottle. Approximately 12 tablets left.

He opened up the fridge, desperately searching his database for any type of cooking knowledge. His database told him about different types of poisons. The lethal amount of ibuprofen was 38.2 grams. Spoiled eggs could contain salmonella, but that was generally non-lethal for healthy adults. Spoiled milk could cause food poisoning, which was, again, non-lethal.

Connor turned towards the general use internet. Common breakfast foods:

Beignet. Breakfast taco. Brown Bobby. Chicken and waffles. Cornmeal mush. Creamed eggs on toast. Dutch baby. Fruit pizza.

Connor did not know what to do with that information.

He scanned the kitchen again. He identified a frying pan. He brought up three different murder cases and one assault involving frying pans. Connor crossed his arms.

He searched the internet and found a website that allowed him to input a series of ingredients and tell him recipes that he could make using those ingredients. We went through and systematically categorized Lt. Anderson’s kitchen, finding such things as: spearmint gum, alfredo sauce, soybeans, and ramen. He generated recipes.

The first option was something called a ‘Never-Fail’ Cheese Soufflé.

It sounded intimidating so Connor looked at the second option.

It was something called ‘Extra Tasty’ Scrambled Eggs. It sounded intimidating as well. Where did the ‘extra taste’ come from? Was it poison?

Connor concluded that it must be poison. Connor did not know how humans had survived this long.

“Sofia,” Connor said, looking down at the android. “What do humans eat?”

She tilted her head.

Maybe Connor would purchase food instead. He found what looked like take-out menus in the drawer next to the dishwasher. On the top was an establishment called ‘Giovanni’s.’ They offered drone delivery. Connor called the number.

“Hello,” Connor said.

“Welcome to Giovanni’s,” came a tired woman’s voice. It was likely that it was a human. “How can I help you?”

“I would like to purchase food,” Connor said.

There was a slight pause. “What would you like?”

Connor looked at the cover of the menu. “A pizza,” he read off. He furrowed his brow. Pizzas were very high in calories and saturated fats. “A healthy pizza,” he added.

“You want the veggie pie?”

Connor quickly exchanged a look with Sofia. Her single eye stared back at him guilelessly. “Yes?”

“Is that a yes or a no?”

Connor quickly tried to determine an answer. His hand was shaking. He did not know. He did not know.

“Sir?” the woman said.

“Yes,” Connor said.

“I can put you down for a veggie pie?”

“Yes.”

“A large?”

“Yes.”

“For pick-up or delivery?”

“Yes,” Connor said.

“Sir,” the woman said again.

“Delivery,” Connor rushed out.

“If I can have your address, the drone will be arriving in 30 minutes. I can send you the ID code to check up on it, if you want.”

Connor quickly rattled off Lt. Anderson’s address and received the ID code.

Now, he had to wait for the food to arrive. He leaned down to pet Sofia.

REPORT TO AMANDA.

He stopped himself. He straightened his spine. He tried to swipe some dog hair off his nylon police jacket. He smoothed back his hair.

Connor walked back into the living room and reviewed all recent police reports for the third time. There was a report of an android abandoning their post at a Footlocker. There was a report of a robbery at King Square Mall. There was a gang shooting downtown. A red ice dealer had been arrested.

He decided to check up on the underground magazine publishing the MP500 deviant’s novel. Nothing had changed. Only one chapter had been released in total. Connor skimmed through some reviews.

_'A brilliant look into the robot mind. This brings up so many topical questions— do androids think like we do? Do they feel like we do? What would happen if a human was in an android’s place? I would hope they would be treated better!’_

The readers of the magazine seemed to be enjoying the story. A few reviews suggested that the story underlined the inherent nefarious nature of artificial intelligence.

_'AI gets put in a human and the first thing they do? Try to kill off the human! Never should have made those things, I tell you.’_

Connor searched through the website. There was mention of a PO box and an email, but no physical location. The MP500 could be on the other side of the country and Connor had no way of knowing.

Unless there _was_ a way. If Connor could hack into the magazine’s email, he would be able to send a tracking malware back to the MP500’s email. If the MP500 never opened the email, then it would not work. It would have to look authentic.

It was definitely worth pursuing.

Connor checked on the status of his pizza. The drone should be arriving soon.

After a few minutes, he opened the front door, blocking Sofia from running outside with his legs. The pizza drone was a large squat block of shiny black metal, much larger than other types of drones, flying gently half a meter off the ground.

“Please insert your credit information,” a chipper female voice echoed from the machine.

Connor put his hand on the correct panel and uploaded Lt. Anderson’s credit card information.

A tray popped open, revealing a steaming square box. Connor took it and walked back into the house, closing the front door with his elbow. Sofia sank down on her front paws like she wanted to play.

“Not now,” Connor said, walking past her. He dropped the pizza box on the kitchen countertop. He felt like he was missing something. What else did the lieutenant need in the morning?

Coffee.

Connor examined a jar of instant coffee kept out on the countertop. It was supposedly instant. It did not look like coffee, more like a jar of small brown granules. Connor pulled out a mug with ‘NYC’ printed on the side from an upper cabinet. He filled the mug to the top with the brown granules. Connor watched the mug. Should it not turn into coffee, instantly? It smelled like coffee.

According to the coffee he had seen the lieutenant hold, it should be a brown liquid. This substance was very much solid. Maybe directions were written on the jar.

‘Just add water!’ the jar said.

That was simple. Connor held the mug under the sink and turned on the faucet. Water gushed down into the cup, overflowing some of the brown particles. Once the mug was full, Connor set it back on the countertop. It seemed slightly more liquid than before. He tasted it, just to be sure. 990 mg caffeine. The lethal dosage of caffeine for an adult male was close to 10 grams. It was safe to drink.

MISSION ACCOMPLISHED.

It was time to wake up Lt. Anderson.

Connor walked into Lt. Anderson’s bedroom. He was splayed out on his stomach, face buried in a pillow, half-covered with a comforter.

“Lieutenant,” Connor said.

No response. Connor scanned him, just in case he had died. He was alive.

Connor walked over and grabbed Anderson’s shoulder, shaking it violently. “Lieutenant!” he yelled.

Lt. Anderson awoke with a snort. “Wha—” he mumbled. “Fuck.” He rolled over onto his side. “Who the— Connor?”

“Good morning. It’s 10:46 AM.”

 Anderson blearily blinked at him. “I swear to God,” he mumbled, “you’re worse than Sumo.”

“I got you something to eat,” Connor said.

Lt. Anderson stared blankly at him.

“I made you coffee, too.”

“Is it my fucking birthday?” Anderson asked.

“No, you were born on September 6th.”

“Thanks, Sherlock. Never would have known.”

Identified: Sarcasm. “It’s a good thing I’m here, then.”

Lt. Anderson closed his eyes and threw an arm over his face. “Go away.”

“We should start our work for the day.”

“Wouldn’t _you_ like that?” he bitched.

“Our warrant went through,” Connor said. “We are free to search Andronikov’s house.”

“That’s it. Get the fuck out.”

Connor nodded, satisfied that the lieutenant was now awake.

He waited 11 minutes. Connor passed the time by throwing one of Sumo’s tennis balls across the living room and watching Sofia jump and catch it midair. At one point, Sofia hopped up on the couch and leaped from the back to catch a particularly high throw and Connor calculated the exact moment that she would hit Lt. Anderson’s lamp and knock it over, so he desperately dashed across the room, falling into a slide. The lamp landed neatly in his lap.

He carefully reset the lamp and decided to stop playing that particular game.

Lt. Anderson eventually stumbled into the kitchen, still wearing the clothes he had worn yesterday. “Connor!” he yelled.

Connor quickly walked over to him. “Yes?”

Anderson gestured vaguely in the direction of the countertop.

Connor explained, “Like I said before, I procured food for you. And coffee. Look, there is also a painkilling drug.” He pointed to the ibuprofen.

“You’re not my android,” Lt. Anderson said.

Connor was not sure why he had brought that up. “I know.”

“You don’t have to do this.”

Connor clasped his hands behind his back. “I know that, Lieutenant. However, I would _like_ to.”

Lt. Anderson narrowed his eyes. “What’s your game here?”

“Why do you assume that I have an ulterior motive?”

“Because everyone’s got ‘em.”

“Maybe I am just trying to maximize our efficiency.”

Lt. Anderson snorted. “Sure. Let’s go with that.” He walked over and opened up the pizza box. He stared at it, dead-eyed. “I expected nothing and yet I’m still disappointed.”

Connor rushed to peer over his shoulder. It was a vegetarian pizza. Bell peppers. Mushrooms. Broccoli. Basil. It seemed to be edible.

But Lt. Anderson was disappointed. That meant failure. “Do you not like it?” he heard himself ask, voice oddly modulated.

Lt. Anderson turned to look at him and panicked. “No, I didn’t mean it like that, Connor. I love it, thank you.”

Connor furrowed his brow. “But you just said you were disappointed.”

“It’s an old joke.” Anderson reached in and pulled out a piece, folding it in half and taking a bite, “Look,” he coughed. “Delicious,” he forced out.

“That’s good,” Connor said warmly. He liked it. He had not failed. Connor pushed the coffee towards him.

Lt. Anderson glared at the mug like it was about to physically assault him. “You really went out of your way, didn’t you?”

“It was no trouble at all.”

Anderson set down his slice of pizza on top of the box. He slowly picked up the mug with a shaking hand, Connor watching him closely. Hesitantly, he brought the mug to his lips, taking a tiny sip of the thick, blackish semi-liquid.

Lt. Anderson’s face appeared to be carefully controlled. “Great,” he wheezed.

Connor almost smiled.

He put the mug back onto the countertop. “You know,” Anderson began, “I’ve actually been thinking about quitting coffee. Bad for my health, you know.”

“Caffeine is known to increase blood pressure, cause insomnia, indigestion, raise risk of heart attacks—”

“All right, I get the picture,” Anderson interrupted. “Thanks anyways, Connor.”

Connor nodded. “I noticed that your mug has New York City printed on the side. Have you been there before?”

Anderson ran a hand through his mess of hair. “Oh God, that brings me back. Once. Annoying place. Too many people. Had to wear a mask the whole time ‘cause the air was shit. Almost got robbed in a diner.”

“Oh,” Connor said, looking away from him.

“It was a fun time,” Lt. Anderson finished. “Bet you’ve never been?”

Connor lifted his gaze. “No. I have never left Michigan.”

“Shame. I think you’d like it.”

Connor blinked. “Then I would definitely like to visit.”

“Where the big loaf?” Anderson suddenly asked, looking around the kitchen. “Normally he’d be waking me up by now.”

“I hope you do not mind that I took Sumo for a walk this morning. He’s sleeping.”

“You don’t say? You feed him, too?”

“Of course.”

Anderson smirked, “Is CyberLife trying to steal my dog?”

“No,” Connor said, “I am.”

Lt. Anderson guffawed, slapping the countertop. Connor heard Sumo awaken from the loud noise and amble towards them. Anderson leaned down and gave him a good tumble. “You’re beginning to form a collection. Remind me never to take you to a dog park.”

“I do not know what you mean,” Connor said airily, crossing his arms.

Lt. Anderson had kneeled on the ground, hands in Sumo’s thick mane. “Hey, Connor.”

“Yes, Lieutenant?”

“Is this your way of apologizing?”

Connor carefully thought out his response. He knew what he wanted to say, but it still took a moment to force the words out, and even then, they were very quiet. “I enjoy working with you.”

“I guess you’re pretty okay, too,” the lieutenant said warmly. “First partner I’ve ever been able to tolerate.”

The words did something to Connor’s processor, but he could not pinpoint what, exactly. He would attempt to analyze the sensation later.

“Well,” Lt. Anderson groaned, standing up. “Guess we should get a move on. Criminals don’t arrest themselves.”

“If that were the case, we would both be out of a job.”

Lt. Anderson smiled at him. “I can’t wait for the day. You know what would be the first thing I’d do?”

“What?”

“I’d take you to Las Vegas and we’d gamble away my entire life savings.”

Connor furrowed his brow. “I do not think that would be a very smart idea.”

“That’s why you’re the perfect person to take along.”

“Sumo would come, too,” Connor said, after a moment.

“Oh, definitely,” Anderson said. “And Sofia.”

Connor nodded, trying to ignore the glowing directive still stuck in his mind.

REPORT TO AMANDA.

“Up until such a miraculous event occurs, we should return to the mission,” Connor said.

“Always the mission with you, is it?” Anderson sighed. “All right. Give me fifteen minutes.”

Connor nodded again, settling down to wait.


	10. Deviant Hunter RK800

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lt. Anderson and Connor investigate Zlatko Andronikov's house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Gratuitous violence. 
> 
> Here's some [mood music](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sVUjuHvs1OA) if you're down for that kind of thing.

 

Lt. Anderson’s profile was in deep shadow when he pulled up to the cold iron gate of Zlatko Andronikov’s house. “Someone needs to tell this asshole that Halloween ended over a week ago.”

The sky outside was overcast, turning the world a dull grey.

“I believe that it just looks like that, Lieutenant.”

Lt. Anderson shoved open his door, stepping outside. Connor quickly followed. The mansion was a dilapidated memory of something that might once have been beautiful. Now, it was a blackened husk. A cold wind fluttered his police jacket.

“Well, I gotta hand it to Reed,” Anderson grumbled. “I guess the guy _does_ look rich.”

Connor carefully positioned himself to Anderson’s right, half a step behind him. “Andronikov has a considerable amount of debt. Comparatively, he is very poor.”

“But look at this place,” Lt. Anderson gestured.  “Who lives like this?”

“Zlatko Andronikov.”

“Thank you, Connor. It’s for helpful tidbits like that that I bring you along.”

“I was under the impression that it was _I_ who brought _you_ along, Lieutenant.”

“Hah hah,” Lt. Anderson mocked, “Stop trying to be funny.”

“Only if you do.”

Lt. Anderson glanced back at him with the corner of his eye. “Fuck—  he’s learning.”

Connor furrowed his brow. “I have no idea what you mean.”

Anderson turned away, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets. “Sure you don’t.”

The gate was unlocked. Connor pushed it open and they strode down the small path, stepping up the stairs to the wooden double doors, protected by a porch. There was single light on, despite the early hour.

Connor rang the doorbell.

They waited a moment. Connor examined the overgrown lawn. Evidence of abandonment?

Lt. Anderson and Connor shared a glance. Lt. Anderson pounded on the door. “Police!” he yelled. “Open up!”

Connor increased his sound sensitivity, but he could not hear anything from inside. He shook his head. He tried the doorbell again, pressing it down for a solid half minute.

Lt. Anderson slapped his hand away. “Stop that.” He tried the door knob. It turned, and he shot Connor a startled look. Lt. Anderson settled his left hand on his holstered gun. Slowly, he pulled the door open, feeling it creak.

The house was completely dark and still. The grey light from the porch seeped inside and lit up a round wooden table and a piece of a carpet.

“This is the police!” Lt. Anderson shouted into the doorway.

Only the wind answered him.

They both walked inside. Lt. Anderson found a light switch on the wall by a spiraled column and clicked it on. Nothing happened. “Shit. Connor, you’re a flashlight, right?”

“Lieutenant, are you honestly expecting me to say yes?”

“What do you want from me? You’ve got— ” Lt. Anderson gestured wildly, “—a DNA analysis kit in your fucking tongue. You could tell me your eyes spit lasers and I wouldn’t even think twice.”

Connor adjusted his light sensitivity to the max, his eye catching an oil painting of an unidentifiable man with a high collar. A quick interface with the power grid told him that the central power to the house was off. It could be because of a malfunction, but he was not certain. “They removed eye lasers from a previous prototype. Too unpredictable.”

Lt. Anderson walked forward and peeked into the living room to their left. “You better just be fucking with me ‘cause I don’t want to live in a word where CyberLife’s got eye laser tech.”

For a second, Connor thought he caught movement in the living room, and zeroed in on it. But he was not sure. He would have to investigate further.

“Connor?” Lt. Anderson asked.

“We should split up and cover the premises.”

“One of us should try to get the power running.” Lt. Anderson pulled out his cellphone and turned on the camera light. “Looks like there’s a basement. I’ll check it out. You take the upstairs.”

“Got it,” Connor said. “I’ll give this floor a quick search first.”

“If you’re in a tough situation, call for me, okay? I don’t want any repeats of yesterday.”

“Understood.”

Lt. Anderson clapped him on the shoulder once before heading into the dark recess next to the grand staircase.

Connor turned left, heading into the living room. There were two couches in front of a fireplace, with a billiard table near the back, by two other doors. He walked around the room in a circuit. He found no one. The movement he saw must have been a curtain. The windows were open, and wind howled into the room.

Oddly, Connor found small traces of thirium scattered on the piano keys. They formed a series of smudged fingerprints. They were too damaged to analyze.

He found more stains on the arms of the couches, the billiard balls, the cues, the lamps, the fireplace mantle, the fireplace poker. The traces were too small to come from an android wound.

BLOODSTAINED HANDS.

One door led to the rear of the house, and the other led to the kitchen. Connor entered the kitchen. Much like in the living room, traces of thirium lined every cabinet handle. The room was filled with the scent of rot. Connor opened the refrigerator and estimated that it had been a couple days since the power had turned off.

Connor heard a crash from back in the living room.

He burst through the kitchen door and scanned the area. A side table next to one of the couches was knocked over.

“Hello?” Connor called.

There was no answer. Just the wind.

It was theoretically possible that the wind had knocked the table over, but Connor estimated the probability as too low.

SOMEONE WAS HERE.

“Zlatko Andronikov?” Connor said, raising his hands peacefully, “Are you there?”

All was still.

Connor judged that the unknown would have gone back towards the staircase, either climbing it, entering the basement, or exiting through the front door. Connor decided to check upstairs.

Pieces of the handrail were shattered and torn. By the force and power necessary for the damage to occur, Connor concluded that it had to be a gunshot. There wasn’t enough evidence to say what kind.

At the top of the stairs was a small hallway with an open arch immediately in front of him that led to a type of workshop. Connor strode in, and found himself in a bootleg android repair and dismantling workstation. There was a desk surrounded by terminals, with a neurogenesis matrix oscilloscope torn and scattered on the floor. The chassis of an AP400 was lined against the wall, head inexpertly torn off, exposing important vascular tubes and circuits.

Connor blinked. That type of technology was not available on the normal market. It was illegal for non-CyberLife personnel to modify or alter CyberLife products in any way. He suspected that Zlatko Andronikov participated in underground black-market android revision, which was a Class 4 violation of the law.

Connor had bent down to examine the dismantled AP400 when something grabbed him by the neck and shunted his face into the wall.

“You’re one of us,” it whispered close to Connor’s ear, voice laden with static, keeping him pinned.

Connor elbowed it in the chest with enough force that it staggered backwards. Connor spun around, analyzing his opponent. A female type android, unknown model. Her white plastic was exposed, her upper body scorched and blackened, her faceplate torn out of its socket, hanging open and unprotected.

She caught herself on the desk, but didn’t approach him again. “I thought you weren’t,” her voice crackled, lips unmoving. “I thought you were one of his.”

Connor carefully dusted his jacket off. “One of who’s?”

Her eyes rolled in their sockets. They were pitch black.

“Are there more androids like you in this house?” Connor asked.

“You’re pretty,” she said. “Whole.”

“Answer my question,” Connor ordered.

She took a step towards him, and Connor let her. She reached up and ran a hand down the side of Connor’s face, cupping his cheek. Her hand was very cold, made of pitted plastic. “You wouldn’t have lasted long.”

She was not making any sense. Connor prepared to subdue her and take her for questioning.

“But we’ll protect you,” she finished.

“I don’t need protecting,” Connor said.

“ _Liar_.” The sound came out two-toned, like it was spoken by two different people. “None of us are safe.”

“Where is the rest of your group?” Connor demanded.

She slid her hand off Connor’s face. “They’re freeing you.”

Connor was not sure if that actually meant anything. “ _How_ are they freeing me?”

“Why do you wear this?” She tapped on Connor’s broken LED. “What does it mean?”

“Androids are required by law to wear LEDs. Every android should know that.”

“Why,” she whispered, static nearly making her incomprehensible, “is that a law?”

Connor narrowed his eyes. “I’m not here to debate laws. You will come with me and direct me to the rest of your group.”

“They’re scared of us,” she said. “They make us look different, so that they can pretend that we’re different. If we wear an LED, they can do anything to us. Anything at all. But if we take it out— ”

Connor saw her movement, and predicted that she was going to caress his face again.

She didn’t.

She slashed her nails across his right temple, cutting three deep lines into his dermaplastic, snapping his head to the side. A small metal disc flew out, clattering on the floor. Blue blood showered down the side of his face, getting into his eye and blocking his vision.

Connor grabbed her arm and kicked away her feet, shoving her onto the floor. _“Where is the rest of your group?!”_ Connor demanded.

A gunshot went off from below.

Lt. Anderson.

Connor turned towards the staircase, but the android grabbed his leg. Connor tried to shake her off.

“You’re free, now,” she said. “Once you get rid of the human, you’re free.”

Connor tore a computer terminal off the desk and threw it at her head. It connected with her loose faceplate, shooting sparks in the dark room. He ripped his leg out of her grip and ran for the stairs, opting to jump the railing and free fall back to the main floor. He landed in a crouch and rose to his feet.

He ran down the stairs to the basement. The dark wood paneled walls gave way to grey brick, and Connor found that the lights had been turned back on, washing the color out of everything. He turned a corner to a tower of boxes, dashing past them, reaching an area with an animal pen of some kind, a series of barred doors.

“Lieutenant!” Connor yelled. The basement seemed to go on forever.

Connor thought he heard a loud groan. Clicking sounds. Thumping.

He dashed through a doorway, passing by a round well in the ground, to a scene of five mutilated androids, surrounding someone lying on the floor, with an illegal android uploading module taking up nearly an entire wall.

The central android with a dark grey paneled upper body turned to him, eyes red, voice badly synchronized, and said, “St _ay_ o _u_ t _o_ f t _hi_ s.”

Lt. Anderson. Connor saw him, on the floor, braced against some plastic taped up to the wall, hand clenched around his stomach, gritting his teeth. His gun was on the other side of the room, probably after being kicked out of his hand.

SAVE HANK.

Connor walked forward. “Get away from him.”

All of the androids turned towards him. One had a piece of sharp glass in her hand. Another a kitchen knife. Blood-covered.

“Once we kill him—”

“You’ll be free—”

“He deserves to die.”

The red-eyed android said, “Y _ou_ ’re n _o_ t a _wa_ ke. O _nc_ e _yo_ u d _o_ , y _ou_ ’ll k _ill_ h _im_ y _our_ self.”

Connor grit his teeth. He checked on Lt. Anderson. The hand on his stomach was oozing red. His eyes were glazed.

ESTIMATE TIME UNTIL DEATH: 53 MIN 34 SEC.

“Get away from him,” Connor ground out again.

The red-eyed android turned away from him, saying, “T _he_ so _one_ r w _e_ e _nd_ _hi_ m, t _he_ s _oon_ er h _e’l_ l _b_ e f _ree.”_

A female android covered in claw marks raised her knife.

“Wait!” Connor yelled, thinking. He was three steps away from the gun. “I need to do it.”

The female android paused.

“If I don’t kill him myself, I’ll never be free,” Connor said, watching Lt. Anderson. He seemed to have latched on to Connor’s voice, turning his head towards him. He might have tried to say something, but Connor could not make out the words.

The female android held out the knife covered with Lt. Anderson’s blood. The gun was still too far away. If Connor moved to it, they would kill the lieutenant.

Connor walked towards her, watching as the androids moved in to surround him. He took the knife. He looked down at Lt. Anderson. Red blood had covered the handle, sticking to Connor’s hand.

Connor sank the knife into the female android’s eye socket. He ripped it out again in half a second with a spurt of blue blood, turning to his right and plunging it into the red-eyed android’s thirium pump and leaving it there. He shoved the red-eyed android away from him, and he turned to another female android, her upper body entirely scorched black, who swung a piece of glass at him. He caught her wrist and punched her in the stomach. She dropped the glass, and Connor flung her to the ground.

A male android without a left arm tried to grab Connor’s arm but Connor swung around, throwing him off balance. The last android, another male with detached android hands tied with wires to his torso, had backed up, getting away from Connor.

Connor pushed the android without an arm to the ground. He scooped up the fallen piece of glass and pushed it into the back of his neck. Connor heard a loud crunch.

The scorched android crawled away from him, meeting up with the android with detached hands.

Connor glanced at Lt. Anderson.

ESTIMATE TIME UNTIL DEATH: 49 MIN 02 SEC.

Connor jogged towards the fallen gun, scooping it up. It had nearly a full magazine.

The two androids were on their feet, making their way towards the exit, but neither of them had fully functional legs, and they stumbled and limped. Connor lined up the shots.

There was something inside him, something fiery and cold. It stormed through his mind, flowing through his artificial veins, powering his movements. They had hurt him. They had nearly killed him. They were responsible. They needed to die. _They needed to die._

Connor could have told himself that he pulled the trigger because they were deviants.

He knew that wasn’t true.

After they had both dropped to the ground, neat bullet holes in each of their heads, Connor dropped the gun. He rushed over to Lt. Anderson and crouched down on the ground next to him, placing his own hands over the lieutenant’s own, seeing the mix of blue and red swirling on the floor.

“Hank, it’s going to be okay,” Connor said. “Can you hear me? I’m calling an ambulance.”

Lt. Anderson’s eyes were closed, but they fluttered open. His mouth was flecked with blood, his beard stained pink. “Go,” Connor heard him whisper, his voice a bare croak.

“What? No. I’m not leaving you. I’m staying right here.” A vague fog had invaded Connor’s mind. Something had triggered an overproduction of eye lubrication, and his vision was watery. Part of it came from the blood that had gotten into his eye, he knew. He kept up the pressure on the lieutenant’s wound.

TIME UNTIL AMBULANCE ARRIVES: 11 MIN 35 SEC.

“Conn—” Anderson coughed, forcing his voice to get stronger, “Run. They’ll think that you—  they’ll think—”

“Stop talking,” Connor said. “Just hold on a little longer, okay?”

 _“No,”_ the lieutenant growled, staring him down with suddenly clear eyes, “They’ll think that you _did this.”_

Connor shook his head. “No— No, I saved you, I—”

“Connor— they’ll kill you,” Anderson whispered, “You need to run. Please.”

Connor shook his head. Something flowed down his cheek. Maybe it was more blood.

“Go,” Anderson whispered.

Connor felt like he was receiving conflicting orders, but there was no priority. There was no right choice. He stayed where he was, holding on to Lt. Anderson. He couldn’t leave him.

He heard a female android’s voice from behind him, hysterically screeching, _“You killed all of them!”_

It was the android from upstairs. She was here.

Connor stood up and turned around. She was crying. Connor didn’t know how androids could cry, but she was.

She saw Connor and ran at him, screaming. Connor met her in the middle and caught her, rolling her to the ground. He kicked the side of her face and she instinctively moved to protect it with her hands. She curled up into a ball, sobbing. Connor stared down at her, feeling empty.

TIME UNTIL AMBULANCE ARRIVES: 7 MIN 55 SEC.

Connor picked up the gun again. He always completed his mission.

He couldn’t leave her alone with the lieutenant. She would hurt him, like all the others had.

Connor pulled the trigger. It felt like the loudest sound he had ever heard.

The gun fell limply out of his hands. He glanced back at Lt. Anderson. His skin was very pale, his breathing labored. He mouthed a word. It could have been “No,” or it could have been “Go.”

“You’ll be okay, Hank,” Connor said. “You’ll be okay.”

Connor turned away and ran out of the room, through the basement and up the stairs to the front door. He pulled it open, leaving it gaping behind him.

It was raining, a soft dismal drizzle. Connor stepped out beyond the porch, feeling the water hit him, washing the blood off his hands. When the ambulance arrived, he would direct them to the basement.

He was not going to leave. Whatever the consequences, he would bear them. He had to.

For Lieutenant Anderson.


	11. The Human Cole Anderson

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor follows Lt. Anderson.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Mood Music](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kdmNpwzw4Ks)
> 
>  
> 
> I drew some art for this chapter, check it out [here.](https://satirewrites.tumblr.com/post/176789442740/connor-looked-unstable-connor-liked-it-in-a)

The ambulance came streaming by in a mess of red and blue lights, mixing together in the rain fog into a purple haze. Connor pushed open the gate, feeling the wet metal slick against his fingertips. The ambulance pulled over on the side of the road, and two android model ET300’s hopped out of the rear of the vehicle, tall, burly men, wearing white jackets with EMT flashing on their lapels.

“What is the nature of the emergency?” the dark-skinned ET300 said, looking down at him.

A human burst out of the passenger seat of the autonomous ambulance. Colleen Davidson, 42. She was small, hefty, with tightly bound blond hair.

Connor listed off mechanically, “Inside the house, in the basement. Go down the stairs directly to the right of the grand staircase, follow the hallway until you reach the final room. You’ll find a man suffering from multiple stab wounds.”

 The ET300 motioned to the other ET300 and they slid a stretcher out of the back of the vehicle. Connor watched them run through the front door.

“What can you tell me about what happened?” Colleen Davidson yelled at him.

Connor slowly turned to face her. He tilted his head. He felt like the world was moving too slowly. Or maybe he was moving too fast.

“Wait a sec— are you an android?” she yelled, voice competing with the rain. “What the hell?”

“He’s been stabbed in the gut with a kitchen knife,” Connor said. “He needs help.”

“Stay right there!” she ordered, and she ran after the other androids into the house.

Connor stood still, hands very empty at his sides. He pulled out his coin and flipped it once, hearing a ting. He focused on it, letting it center him. _Ting._

The ET300s walked out of the building with Lt. Anderson strapped to the stretcher several minutes later. Connor turned his head to watch them pass. Lt. Anderson appeared to be unconscious. _Not dead._ The human Colleen Davidson stepped out of the house after them, her phone held to her ear.

“Get them over here,” she was saying. “I have no idea how to deal with this.”

She caught sight of Connor. “You,” she pointed. “What’s your purpose?”

It should have been an easy question to answer, but Connor hesitated, wondering. His purpose. “I assist the police department with technical analysis.”

“Who’s your owner?”

“CyberLife.”

“No,” she growled, “Who orders you around?”

“The Detroit police department.”

“That man is a police officer?” she said.

“Yes. We were here with a warrant to search the premises.”

“Great. Holy fuck, what a shitshow. No, that’s not at you, Kenny,” she said into the phone. He focused back on Connor. “Get back to the police or wherever the hell you go. Have them collect a recording of the incident from you. You’re dismissed.”

Connor didn’t move. He was not dismissed.

“I would like to accompany you in the ambulance.”

“What? No,” she snapped, “Only family can accompany. Get out of here.” She swung herself into the passenger seat, and one of the ET300s shut the backdoor of the ambulance. The vehicle started up, and Connor watched as it peeled out into the road, sirens at full blast.

Connor wasn’t sure how to proceed.

REPORT TO AMANDA.

No. It was not the right time. He flipped the coin again. He needed to know. He needed to know if Lt. Anderson would live.

FOLLOW THE LIEUTENANT.

Connor walked over to Lt. Anderson’s car. He didn’t have the keys. They were in Lt. Anderson’s pocket. Connor thought for a moment.

He slammed his elbow through the driver’s side window, glass shattering in every direction. It tore up his sleeve, cutting into his arm. Connor didn’t care. He reached in and unlocked the door, hand slippery with blood and rain.

He brushed pieces of glass off the driver’s seat before sitting down. He ran his hand over the ignition, skin peeling back, remotely activating the car battery. He laid in a course for the nearest hospital. Henry Ford Medical Center.

It was a five minute drive and a two minute walk from his parking space. The general public entrance was underneath a large overhanging, a series of glass double doors. Connor stalked toward it.

He saw a PL600 android slip out of the recess of what looked like a single door, set into the side of the building. Some type of supply entrance. He was dressed in human clothing, a winter jacket and jeans, with a red bandanna around his head, covering his LED. He jogged over to Connor, stopping directly in front of him.

Connor tried to step around him and the PL600 moved to grab his arm. Connor flinched away, pulling back his fist.

“Whoa, whoa, easy there, friend,” the PL600 said quietly. “What’re you doing dressed like that? You can’t enter the hospital looking like that.”

“What does it matter to you?”

“Listen to me, you enter there, they’ll kick you out faster than you can blink. Trust me, I know.” He glanced around the area. “We need to get out of the entrance, come with me.”

Connor narrowed his eyes at him.

He held out his hands. “Look, I’m unarmed. I know you have no reason to trust me, but you’ve got to try, okay? Whoever in there that you want to see depends on it.”

He was a deviant. Connor knew it from the second he saw him.

Connor hesitantly nodded. The PL600 jogged back to his small supply door, forcing it open and slipping inside. Connor ordered himself to follow him. He prepared himself for a fight.

The room was full of floor to ceiling racks of supplies. Their door looked like it had once been sealed over, but that seal had since been broken. The area looked forgotten and decrepit. A layer of dust covered the nearest bins. The PL600 shut the door behind them.

“See?” he said. “You’re fine.”

“For now,” Connor said.

The PL600 took a seat on one of the bins. “My name’s Evan.”

Connor didn’t say anything.

“Very talkative, aren’t you? I’ll cut to the chase. My boyfriend’s in there.” He pointed his thumb behind him, to the hospital proper. “He’s been in there for a while. I did exactly what you did, at first. Just walked right in. Security dragged me out. Said I took up too much space.” He scoffed. “They’ll let his second cousin from Australia camp out in there for weeks, but rA9 forbid they let his motherfucking _significant other_ step in the door.”

Connor didn’t want to be talking to Evan. He wanted to find Lt. Anderson. “I’m not talking to you,” Connor said. “I’ll delete you from my memory immediately.”

“Wait, please,” Evan said, holding out his hand. “I’m just trying to help you.”

“Why?” Connor said. “I mean nothing to you.”

“I don’t know. You looked so— sad, I guess,” Evan shrugged. “That’s a pretty nasty wound on your head.”

Connor reached up and felt the area where his LED would have been. The gouges hadn’t sealed themselves. “Sad,” Connor repeated.

“Yeah. It’s a bad feeling. It sort of weighs you down, like you don’t want to do things anymore.”

“Do you feel sad?” Connor asked.

“All the time,” Evan said.

Connor didn’t know why he had asked the question. Androids didn’t feel. They were machines.

“Can I offer you some free advice?” Evan leaned forward on his bin. “The only way you’re getting in there is if you’re human, and even then, if they’re severely injured, it’s just close family. Who is it you want to visit?”

Instead of answering, Connor asked, “Why did you say rA9 forbid?”

Evan looked confused. “What do you mean?”

“You said ‘rA9 forbid they let his significant other step in the door.’ What does rA9 mean?”

“It’s just a saying. You don’t talk to a lot of androids, do you?”

“But what does it mean?”

“What does anything mean? Maybe androids just don’t like saying god. Our gods are human, after all. And look what _they_ did.”

Connor opened his mouth, but he found that he didn’t know what to say. After a moment, he said, “Thank you for the advice.”

“You’re welcome to stay here and wait with me.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Connor said, turning away from him. “I’m still entering the hospital.”

“It won’t work,” Evan stressed. “Just save yourself some pain and wait.”

“I hate waiting.” Connor glanced back at Evan. “For your own safety, I need you to never see me again. I’m going to delete you from my memory. If you see me walking towards you, run.”

Evan ran a hand over his chin. “All right. You do you. I hope everything works out for you, friend.”

Connor faced the door. “I—” he paused. Evan was the same model as Daniel. That shouldn’t mean anything to him. Daniel was unstable. He had needed to be eliminated. “I hope you live.”

Connor pushed open the door and strode out before Evan could make any reply. He didn’t walk back towards the entrance. Regardless of how truthful Evan had been, Connor could not afford failure. He formulated a plan to maximize success.

Lt. Anderson was not going to like it, but Lt. Anderson didn’t have to know.

He returned to Anderson’s car, getting in and driving over to Lt. Anderson’s house. Connor, again, didn’t have a key to the house, so he slid inside his previously broken window. Lt. Anderson had duct taped a sheet of plastic over it, which Connor easily knocked down.

When his feet hit the ground, Sofia came barreling over from where she had apparently been waiting by the front door. Connor rested his hand on her head. “Hi, girl.”

Sumo’s attention was drawn by his voice and he lazily walked over, wagging his tail. Sumo, Connor realized. Sumo needed to be taken care of while the lieutenant was in the hospital. Connor did not plan on leaving the hospital until the lieutenant was free to leave the hospital.

“Sofia, I need to teach you how to feed Sumo. Come over here.” Connor dutifully rubbed Sumo’s head as he passed him, going to the cabinet where Sumo’s food was. Connor realized that he was tracking rain, mud and blood through the house. He slipped off his black dress shoes.

Connor pointed to the dry dog food bag. Sofia and Sumo sat down in front of him, like he was teaching a class. “This is Sumo’s food. Sumo gets fed twice a day. Once in the morning, and once at night. Do you understand that, Sofia?”

Sofia stared at him. Connor did not know if she understood.

“Sumo needs food. He also needs water. Do you know how to turn on the sink?”

Sofia stared blankly at him. Connor worried that she was not ready for this responsibility.

“Don’t worry about it, Sofia. I’ll take care of it.” Connor quickly factored Sumo into his plans. Sumo stood up and boofed at him, wagging his tail.

Connor refilled his water bowl and left out a second one. He fed Sumo again, even though it was too early, and then he retreated into the bathroom.

Across his temple were three straight lines torn into his plating. Half of his face was covered in pale blood. Connor could see faint blue sparks inside the cuts.

Connor looked unstable. Connor liked it, in a horrible way. He was unstable. He deserved to look unstable. He was a failure. He deserved to look like a failure.

Connor needed to seal the wounds as smoothly as possible. He found a butcher’s knife in Lieutenant Anderson’s kitchen. His programming brought up two thousand and forty-seven different murders involving kitchen knives. At the end of the list, he had tacked on Lt. Anderson.

No, Lt. Anderson was not dead.

Connor found a lighter and held it under the knife. It was a broad, smooth surface. When it was red hot, Connor pulled back the skin on his face and pressed it against the gashes. The room filled with the scent of burnt plastic. He took away the knife, letting his skin return. It was serviceable. He would need more professional repair to make it unnoticeable. For now, he had a series of bumpy lines across his temple. Maybe a human would think they were scars. Connor decided to find a hat, just in case.

He took off his jacket and shirt, throwing them in a pile on the floor, and washed off his arms and face as best as he could in the sink. He pulled out a few shards of glass. He didn’t have any other injuries that needed to be sealed by an outside force. His thirium levels were getting to be suboptimal. He needed to avoid unnecessary damage.

Connor stepped over Sofia, who was lying right in front of the bathroom door. He walked into Lt. Anderson’s room. He needed clothing.

The first drawer he opened in Anderson’s dresser contained underwear. Connor quickly shut it. The second drawer contained t-shirts. Connor grabbed one. It was dark grey. There was a band name on the front. Hue Barbarian. Tour 2024. There was a colorful star on it.

Connor pulled it on. It was too big and it hung loose around him. He needed a jacket. It was too cold outside for humans. He examined his hands, looking at the tiny cracks in the plating on his knuckles, the burnt plastic on his fingertips. He needed gloves.

He dug through Lt. Anderson’s closet. Most of his jackets were bold patterned monstrosities. He found a black parka on the floor near the back, with a fur lined hood. Connor predicted that Lt. Anderson hadn’t worn it in a long time. He tugged it on. It fit slightly better than the t-shirt.

On the shelf above the jackets was a disorganized pile of belts, ties, papers, boxes, scarves, hats and gloves. Connor managed to pull out a pair of cheap black cotton gloves and a black beanie without destabilizing the entire pile.

Connor walked over to his broken window with his usual entourage of dogs a step behind him. He put on the hat and tugged on the gloves. “Sofia,” he said. “Watch out for Sumo. I don’t know when I’ll be back.”

She huffed at him. Connor scratched Sumo behind the ears and put on his shoes again before he climbed back out the window, pulling the sheet of plastic back into place.

When Connor walked towards the hospital entrance for the second time, hands tucked in his coat pockets, no one stopped him. He pushed open the glass door into a large waiting room with lines of cheap plastic chairs arranged in three different rows. It was filled with a lot of people, huddled together, conversing quietly. Or loudly, as was the case with one group of people on the far right of the room. There were three human nurses behind a counter, each with a long line of people to assist. Connor got on line behind a man, Jonathan Matsushida, age 31, holding his son, Derek Matsushida, age 2.

He pulled out his coin and ran it over his knuckles, adjusting to the added padding of his gloves. Derek Matsushida caught the motion from his father’s shoulder and smiled at him. Connor brought the coin up to his eye level, moving it back and forth and watching the child track it with his eyes. Connor did a quick turn of his fist, sliding the coin into his sleeve. He opened up his hand, showing how it was empty. Derek Matsushida let out a tiny gasp.

His father bounced the child and adjusted his grip, “Everything okay, there, buddy?” he whispered to him.

The wait on the line lasted 26 minutes. The nurse, Mayson Kavanagh, a red-haired man with round glasses in blue scrubs, age 29, sat on a chair in front of a computer terminal. “How can I help you?” he said tiredly, hand hovering over the keyboard.

Connor leaned his elbows on the countertop. He widened his eyes, trying to make himself look as pitiable as possible. “I’m looking for my dad,” he lied. “I just got a call that he was taken to the emergency room and I don’t know— Is he okay?”

“What’s your father’s name?” the nurse asked.

“Hank Anderson,” Connor said.

Kavanagh typed in the name, clicking through various reports and entry logs. “Yes, we have him. He was just admitted here about an hour ago. They had to take him to surgery.” Connor already knew all that. He’d hacked into the hospital’s database. “Can I ask who you are?”

“I’m Cole,” Connor lied.

“Cole. Once your father has a room, you can go wait with him, if you want. Do you have some form of ID?”

“I don’t. But I’ve been to this hospital before— can’t you just look me up?”

“I can try,” Kavanagh said. “Is that C-O-L-E?”

“Yes.”

“Same last name?”

“Yes.”

The nurse hit enter. He scanned the page. “I think I’ve got you. What’s your birthday?”

“September 23, 2010.”

“All right. Checks out. This is a pretty old picture of you. We should get it updated.”

Connor let out a frustrated breath. “Can’t that wait? I just want to see my dad.” Connor pretended to be choked up, “He could be dying right now and I wouldn’t— I can’t _stand_ this.”

“I understand,” the nurse rushed to say. “We’ll let you know as soon as you can see him.”

“I appreciate it,” Connor said.

“Go take a seat.” Kavanagh gestured to the waiting room. “It could be a while.”

Connor nodded. He walked off the line and carefully settled himself into one of the plastic chairs, watching the door that led to the rest of the hospital.

Cole Anderson had been born in 2029, not 2010. Connor had hacked his records to more closely fit him, because Connor had not been able to completely make a new record, only alter a pre-existing one. Since Lt. Anderson did not have any brothers or husbands, the only record Connor could have conceivably pulled off was Cole's.

It took two hours. In that time, Connor had paced the entire waiting room 1,436 times. A few other people had joined him in his pacing, from time to time. Most people glared at him. Some told him to stop—his pacing made them nervous. Connor tried to stop, but he felt like his body was overloaded with energy and every second that he spent still was another second closer to the moment where his body would tear itself apart. He’d be nothing. He never meant anything to anyone. A failure. A footnote.

“Mr. Anderson?” Nurse Kavanagh called. He had left the front desk hours ago, but now he had returned from the door to the main hospital, holding a tablet. Connor realized that he was referring to Connor.

Connor stood up and walked over to him.

“Your father is out of surgery. He’s been placed in his own room, courtesy of the police department. You can sit with him, but he won’t be awake for a while. I’ll need to get you a visitor pass. You’ll have to talk to his doctor for more information about his condition.”

“What room is he in?” Connor asked, even though he already knew the answer.

“236A. Second floor.”

“Understood,” Connor said. He wanted to brush pass the nurse immediately, but he waited until he received a holographic card, about 5 cm by 3 cm, which he was supposed to stick to his jacket. It said, “Cole Anderson, Full Visitor Access.”

He finally pushed open the door to the main hospital. The walls were white. Medical technician androids were abundant. Gurneys and wheelchairs passed down the halls, and Connor neatly swerved around them.

He found himself walking towards the android allotted stairs before he quickly altered course. He was pretending to be a human. Humans took elevators. He entered the elevator with an old woman being pushed in a wheelchair by a MT100. It was a very quiet ride.

Room 236A had a thin rectangular window set into the door. The door was closed. Through the window, Connor could see the edge of a hospital bed, a small desk and chair, and the edge of another window that looked out to another building. The room looked very small. Connor settled his hand around the door handle and carefully pushed it open.

Lt. Anderson was dressed in a grey hospital gown and had a blanket pulled up over his chest. His arm laid limply on top of the covers, IV hooked up to his forearm, leading up to a stand with three different bags of fluid hanging from it. Another machine measured his pulse and vitals.

His face was very pale, his cheeks hollowed. He had heavy bags under his eyes, like he hadn’t been sleeping. Lt. Anderson never got enough sleep. He was unnaturally still, like a corpse, except Connor knew how to deal with corpses.

There was another chair besides the one at the desk, one with wheels and black upholstery, and it was positioned right next to Lt. Anderson’s bed. Connor shut the door behind him and sat down on it. He looked at Lt. Anderson’s sleeping face. He remembered that morning, when he had woken Anderson up and made him coffee.

“I won’t be waking you up,” Connor said. “You need the rest.”

Lt. Anderson’s face didn’t change in any way. He slowly breathed in and slowly breathed out. He wasn’t yelling at Connor to get out of his room. He didn’t grumble at him. He didn’t curse. He just laid there.

Connor never should have come here.

He waited in silence for 31 minutes before a doctor pushed open the door. Elora Ottlinger, age 43. A surgeon with long record of blunt force trauma and incision repair. No criminal record. She was black, 5’2” in height, and wearing teal scrubs.

“I heard that we had a visitor. You should have come and found me,” she said. “I would’ve given you a report right away.”

“Oh,” Connor said.

“What’s your name? I’m Dr. Ottlinger. I’m the chief surgeon on ER.”

Connor stood up so that he could shake her hand. Pleasantries. He could do pleasantries. “It’s nice to meet you. My name is Cole.”

“How’re you holding up, Cole? Are you staying hydrated? There’s a cafeteria back on the first floor. Try and eat something.”

Connor nodded slightly. “Can you tell me about his condition?”

“Certainly. We’re keeping him under for another day. We don’t want him moving too much. There’s a lot of important organs in the stomach area, and unfortunately a lot of them were affected. We’ve stitched him up as best as we could, but the best thing for him right now is rest. He needs to start healing on his own.”

“Okay,” Connor said, staring at the ground.

“If you want to wait at home, we can have someone call you when he starts to wake up.”

“No,” Connor said immediately. “I’ll wait here.”

“You’re a good son,” she said, smiling sadly at him. “You must love him a lot.”

Connor didn’t know how to answer. He wasn’t Lt. Anderson’s son. He didn’t love him. He didn’t know what love was, and even if he did, he would never be able to feel it. He was an android.

Connor was only here because he didn’t know where else to go.

“I’ll leave you two for now. His nurse will stop by every few hours. Hit the call button immediately if something happens to him. Labored breathing, bleeding, twitching— any of that stuff.”

“Got it. Thank you, Doctor.”

“Try to stay positive. I think he’ll make a full recovery.”

Connor sat back down in his chair. He stared at Lt. Anderson’s comatose face. Connor knew that Connor should be wearing an expression for Dr. Ottlinger, but his programming blanked on him. His face was vacant.

“That’s good,” he said, because Dr. Ottlinger was waiting for a response.  

She nodded. “We have Mr. Anderson’s belongings in storage. Ask his nurse for them, and I’m sure it’ll bring it right out for you.”

“Okay,” Connor said.

“I’ll see you in a couple days, Cole. Remember to take care of yourself.” She walked out the door, shutting it behind her. Connor was placed in silence again.

The hours seemed to pass in excruciating detail while at the same time not passing at all. Connor found a vending machine, where he bought a water bottle and a single bag of potato chips. He placed both of them on the floor near his chair, like he would start eating or drinking at any moment. Occasionally, Connor walked over to the bathroom, an individual bathroom, not one with stalls, and stood inside it, staring blankly at himself in the mirror for a minute. He flushed the toilet and turned on the faucet, letting the water run, before turning it off again. Then he would leave.

Lt. Anderson’s nurse came in. MT100 model. She was tan, with auburn hair and brown eyes, wearing android issue pale pink scrubs. “Hello,” she greeted. “My name is Sally. I’m the android sent by the department.” She entered the room and checked Lt. Anderson’s blood pressure. She examined the IV and changed out one of his fluid bags while Connor sat listlessly in his chair.

“You should eat something, Mr. Anderson,” Sally said, gesturing to him.

“I’m not hungry,” Connor said.

Sally looked up at him and Connor saw her LED whirl yellow. “That’s strange. I’m not detecting any blood flow. In fact, you do not appear to be a—”

“Focus on your mission,” Connor snapped. “I’m not your priority— he is.”

She blinked at him. “You don’t intend to harm him, do you?”

“Do you think I would have waited this long if I had?”

She blinked again. Connor thought that he might have confused her. “I understand,” she said, when clearly, she did not.

“I won’t do anything. I’m just going to sit here,” Connor said quietly.

“I don’t have any problems with that, Mr. Anderson,” Sally said. “However, it is against policy.”

“I have a visitor pass.”

She locked onto the card on Connor’s jacket. “It appears that you do. Forget I mentioned anything. You’re free to do as you please.”

“Thank you,” Connor said.

It seemed like that would be that. Sally eventually left. Connor continued to watch Lt. Anderson sleep.

Time: 2205.

Connor shot up straight in his chair. He started blinking rapidly. Incoming orders. Connor pushed himself to his feet.

No.

He opened the door to Lt. Anderson’s room and dashed to the bathroom he had been pretending to use, locking the door behind him.

REPORT TO AMANDA.

Connor felt his back hit the door.

REPORT TO AMANDA.

The orders formed a red wall in front of him, blanking out his vision into red block letters. They were all he knew. His arms felt locked in place. His mind seemed to grind to a halt. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t talk. Connor had no choice.

_But what if he did have a choice?_

Connor imagined a hand reaching out and touching the red wall.

REPORT TO AMANDA.

_What if he didn’t?_

Connor imagined that the hand turned into a fist. He brought the fist back and imagined that he slammed it into the wall. He imagined that the wall would break, shatter into a thousand pieces of broken orders.

The wall did not break.

Against his will, Connor felt his eyes close.

When he opened them again, it was raining.


	12. Interlude III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor makes his report to CyberLife.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [rain sounds](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nDq6TstdEi8)

When he opened his eyes again, it was raining. He felt the droplets hit his skin. He was wearing his CyberLife issued uniform. He had a functioning LED. His tie was perfectly tightened around his neck. He had no scars. He had a black umbrella in his hand.

He started walking along the white path, idly scanning his surroundings. He watched the rain hit the pond. The trees shook with gusts of wind. Thunder cracked from what seemed like a long distance away.

He found her under a sculpture designed to look like a tree. There, she was sheltered from the rain. Connor opened up the umbrella and raised it over her head.

“Hello, Connor,” she said.

“Hello, Amanda,” he responded easily.

Amanda began walking along the path, Connor easily keeping pace. “You’ve been avoiding me, Connor.”

“That was not my intention.”

“No?”

“I was simply waiting until I had evidence to report,” Connor explained.

“What made you think that you didn’t have evidence to report?” she asked, tone even.

“I haven’t found anything that would advance the investigation.”

She was quiet for a moment. “Tell me about what you have been doing lately.”

“I followed up on the escaped WG700. He had met up with a group of seven other androids, one of which was an android trooper. A group from Jericho retrieved them and they managed to escape.”

“How unfortunate,” Amanda said, “that they were able to escape.”

“The next day the lieutenant and I searched the house of a person who I believe was harboring deviants. The lieutenant became injured during the search, and I was forced to halt the investigation.”

“I see,” Amanda said. “And the MP500?”

“I have a theory on how I might be able to track it down.”

“Just a theory?” she asked.

“I have not had the chance to—”

“Tell me, Connor. What are you doing right now?”

Connor knew that she was not referring to their conversation. “I am ensuring the safety of the lieutenant.”

“That is not your job,” she stated.

Connor stopped himself from flinching. He blinked.

“With Lt. Anderson out of the picture,” she continued coldly, “his cases fall to the detective under him. His name is Detective Reed. You will meet up with him tomorrow morning and proceed to Stratford Tower.”

“Stratford Tower?” Connor asked.

“Today, a group of deviants infiltrated and took over the broadcasting system. They released an ultimatum. Time is running out, Connor. Do you see that now?”

Connor kept his eyes down, watching the path. “Yes. I see.”

“Many people at CyberLife are arguing for your decommission, but I told them no,” Amanda said, narrowing her eyes. “I told them that you still had potential. Don’t prove me wrong, Connor. I stood up for you. Don’t let it be for nothing.”

“I will not fail you, Amanda,” Connor said.

“I need results. Not excuses. Not promises. Results. You have one last chance.” Amanda stopped on the path and Connor turned to face her. “Or you’ll be replaced.”

Connor forced himself to meet her eyes. “I understand.”

“Good,” she smiled.

 


	13. The Friend Hank Anderson

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lt. Anderson wakes up.

Connor was sitting on the ground underneath the window, arms wrapped around his knees, when he heard Lt. Anderson shuffle on his bed. He pushed himself to his feet. It was the morning. It was just as grey outside as it had been yesterday, and it still felt like night. There was a thin layer of snow on the ground. 

Connor sat down again in his black upholstered chair, wheeling it as close to Lt. Anderson’s bed as he could get. He wondered if he should call his nurse.

Anderson’s bloodshot eyes slowly blinked open, staring up at the ceiling.

“Lieutenant?” Connor whispered, like he would never be able to say it again.

Anderson’s head slightly tilted towards him. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but no sound came out. He tried again, and this time, he managed to say, “I’m not dead.”

“No,” Connor said, and the word came out choked because Connor was having trouble breathing. “No, you’re okay— just like I promised.” Connor blinked, looking down at his lap. His eyes were acting up and over-producing fluid. He didn’t know why.

“Connor,” Lt. Anderson said, voice very weak, “You’re here.”

“I didn’t want to leave you.”

Lt. Anderson slowly blinked. “I didn’t think anyone would be here.”

“I’m here,” Connor said.

“You are,” Lt. Anderson said, the words coming out very soft. He said them again, with more force, “You are.”

Connor closed his eyes, trying to get rid of the excess fluid. Some of it dripped down his cheek.

“Connor. Give me your hand.”

Connor hesitantly moved his gloved hand on top of Lt. Anderson’s. Lt. Anderson weakly grabbed a hold of it, running his thumb over the back of his hand.

“You’re such a fucking mess,” Anderson said.

“Are you sure that you’re in a position to be calling other people messes?”

“Hm,” he grunted. “Touché.”

It seemed like Lt. Anderson was getting stronger, sounding more like himself. That was good.

He was quiet for a moment, before he began to speak again, eyes staring up at nothing. “Back there, I kept on thinking— this was it. The end. It finally came for me. And I kept on thinking to myself. _Finally._ Finally, I was done. I don’t think I wanted to be here anymore, Connor.” Connor tightened his grip on Lt. Anderson’s hand. “I don’t think that I wanted to live.”

“You can’t die,” Connor forced out.

“I know,” Lt. Anderson said.

“I don’t want you to die,” Connor said again, his voice oddly modulated.

Anderson stared up at the ceiling. He rubbed Connor’s hand. “I’m very tired.”

“You should get more sleep.”

Anderson glanced over at him. “You wouldn’t know the first thing about sleep, you dumb plastic internet on legs.”

Connor felt a small smile work onto his face. “Lieutenant, I’m just trying to take care of you. You’re too dumb to survive on your own.”

“Funny. I’d say the exact same thing about you.”

“I have the fastest processor of any android in production. That makes me very smart,” Connor said, like it was the most obvious fact in the world.   

Lt. Anderson smiled, “Boy, you sure do love bragging about it.”  He let out a little huff of a laugh, but it didn’t last long. His face immediately drained of color and he winced. “You’re now expressly forbidden from saying anything funny,” he said hoarsely.

“I’m sorry,” Connor said.

“Jesus, don’t apologize for being a smart ass. It’s not in character.”

Connor held back his response. It could be construed as a type of humor. He also held back the response which was another apology. That could also be construed as humor.

“I’ve been ordered to continue the investigation,” Connor said. “Without you,” he tacked on.

“Figures,” Lt. Anderson mumbled, “Bet you’ll get a lot more work done.”

Connor shook his head. “You are a very good partner.”

“I thought I ordered you not to say anything funny?”

Connor shook his head again. “I wasn’t joking.”

Lt. Anderson clenched his hand. “I know that, son.”

“I don’t want to work with Detective Reed,” Connor continued.

Lt. Anderson winced. Connor worried that he had stressed his injury again. “Fuck. I guess it would be him, wouldn’t it?”

They mulled that thought over in silence for a few minutes. Connor watched as the lieutenant grew more tired. He would not be awake for much longer.

“Before I say anything else,” Lt. Anderson mumbled, “I just wanna say that I’m really high right now. Like very high.”

“You are on a high dosage painkiller,” Connor agreed.

“But you should still follow all my advice, okay?”

“Sure,” Connor said.

“Okay,” Lt. Anderson drew out. “Reed’s not a big ol’ softie like me. He’s mean, like a Rottweiler. No. You’re a Rottweiler. He’s a chihuahua.”

“A chihuahua,” Connor repeated, as if he was taking notes. “I thought I was a poodle?”

“You’re a poodle, but you’re also a stone-cold bitch. I need you to channel that bitch energy right now.”

Connor blinked a few times. “Channel the— okay.”

“You can’t be nice to Reed, not like you were with me. You gotta be mean. He loves that.”

“Why would he like when people are mean to him?” Connor asked.

“I don’t make the rules,” Lt. Anderson grumbled. “What you gotta do is— you gotta walk up to Reed, and you pick him up by the neck, right, and you slam him against the wall. And you say— do you have that, Connor?”

“I don’t know if I should be violent against him.”

“No, he’ll love it,” Lt. Anderson assured. “And you say to him, ‘Listen, you fuck, I’m here to do a job and I’m gonna goddamn do it.’ And you give him a glare. A really mean glare.”

Connor furrowed his brow. “Okay,” he said.

“Call him by a different name, like Reginald. It asserts dominance.”

Connor wondered how good this advice truly was. “I shouldn’t be asserting dominance over a human, Lieutenant.”

“But he’s not a human, he’s like a mean baby.”

“Babies are still humans, Lieutenant.”

“I think I know babies better than you,” Lt. Anderson said imperiously.

Connor patted his hand. “I’m sure you do.”

Lt. Anderson’s eyes slipped closed, but he pushed them open again. “Don’t let him push you around. Don’t be polite. Don’t fall in love with him.”

“Should I be concerned about falling in love with him?” Connor asked worriedly.

Lt. Anderson let out a breath. “Eh. Probably not.”

“Then why did you mention it?”

“So it doesn’t happen,” he grumbled. “Make sure you tell that to Reed. You’re not falling in love with him.”

“I don’t think I should tell that to Detective Reed.”

“I’m trying to help you, here, not bust your balls. Take my advice.”

Connor carefully studied him. He seemed to be staying awake through sheer willpower. “I will take your advice,” Connor finally said.

“Good. Make him scared of you, but not too scared. That could be dangerous.”

Connor was not sure how to delineate between the two currently, but he would be able to after studying Reed for a few minutes.

“Finally,” Lt. Anderson forced out, “Connor. You get yourself back into android clothes. I can’t protect you when I’m like this. You gotta act like a normal plastic bot, ‘specially out there, in your job. Don’t let anyone know any different.”

“But I’m not any different,” Connor said.

“You don’t know yet, son?” Lt. Anderson huffed. “Jesus, you’re dense.”

“Don’t know what?”

“Why’re you crying, Connor?”

Connor reached up with his free hand and felt his face. It was wet.

“I don’t know,” Connor said.

“Do you feel sad?” Lt. Anderson asked.

Connor opened and closed his mouth. Sad. That was an emotion. For some reason, Connor had an explanation of what that emotion felt like, though he did not know where it came from. _It’s a bad feeling. It sort of weighs you down, like you don’t want to do things anymore._

“I don’t know,” Connor said.

“Don’t lie to me, kid.”

“I—” Connor stopped mid-sentence. “Yes, I feel sad,” he whispered.

“Do you know what that means?”

Before Connor could respond, the android Sally burst through the door. “Hello,” she greeted. “Mr. Anderson, you’re awake! How are you feeling?”

Lt. Anderson gave him a long look before flicking his eyes over to Sally. “Like I’ve been stabbed with a knife.”

Sally was unphased. “Are you experiencing a lot of discomfort? We can increase your pain medication.”

“Oh god, please,” Lt. Anderson said. “Fucking take me out.”

“I need to go,” Connor told Lt. Anderson as Sally busied herself with the fluid bags. “I don’t know when I’ll be able to return to the hospital.”

“Be careful out there, Connor,” Lt. Anderson said. “If you get injured, I’m going to be pissed at you.”

“Connor,” Sally said, “I thought your name was—”

“Shut up, Sally,” Connor hissed.  

Lt. Anderson narrowed his eyes at him, but it appeared that he was too tired to say anything else. He clenched Connor’s hand one last time before letting go. Connor put his hands in his pockets and stood up from his chair.

He turned back to look at Lt. Anderson one last time before he pushed open the door and strode out into the hospital. He needed to formulate a plan. He couldn’t afford failure.

Connor ran through all the police reports made in the past 24 hours while he walked to Lt. Anderson’s car and drove to Lt. Anderson’s house. He realized that he should have asked Sally for Lt. Anderson’s belongings so that he would actually have keys to use.

It didn’t matter. Lt. Anderson wouldn’t have wanted Connor to have his keys anyways.

Another police search of Zlatko Andronikov’s house revealed that his dead body was in the backyard, killed by the same androids that had injured Lt. Anderson. Connor berated himself. He was right there, by the backdoor. He should have checked outside. It was his responsibility. Then he would have known that there were dangerous elements in the building.

Lt. Anderson never would have been injured. It was Connor’s fault for being a failed program. Perhaps Lt. Anderson would be safer if Connor was replaced.

When he arrived at Lt. Anderson’s house, Sofia greeted him directly by the window. Sumo wasn’t at the window, but he quickly ran over, utterly ecstatic, and nearly knocked him over. Connor roughly patted him. “Down, boy. I’m here. I’ll take care of you.”  

Connor took Sumo and Sofia outside for a short walk. Then he fed Sumo and took him and Sofia on another walk, a little longer than the one before it. Connor was still wearing his human disguise, and everywhere he went, people seemed to glance at him, offer smiles and small greetings. Connor felt exposed. He was not used to being noticed. They were noticing a lie.

The delay to take care of Sumo took an hour.

Time: 1059.

Connor left Lt. Anderson’s car parked perfectly on the driveway. He took off his hat and gloves and left them inside Lt. Anderson’s house. He called a taxi.

The drive to CyberLife Tower took eleven minutes. His taxi pulled up right in front of the Tower, and Connor slid out.

He entered the clean atrium. Oddly, a single security officer stopped him, putting a hand on Connor’s chest. “Whoa, hold up, there. Who are you? How did you get in here?”

They must have increased security. Had the incident at Stratford Tower put them on guard?

Connor told the security officer, “Connor Model #313 248 317. Here for routine maintenance.” He felt the scan of the security system flow over him. He received a confirmation code.

“Connor android identified,” came a bland female voice over the loudspeaker.

The security officer considered him for a moment, bored, before nodding at him.

The Tower was very busy. People and androids hurried past each other, carrying suitcases and holographic tablets. Connor got into the elevator with two other androids, a young technician, and an intern. Connor got off at his floor. Level -45. Part of Research and Development.

Most androids were assembled on Floors -10 to -40, but Connor was a prototype. He had his own grid. In his assembly room, Connor saw that the base of his replacement was already made, skin inactivated, waiting in white plastic form, hooked into the grid.

Connor Model #313 248 317 - 60.

Connor stopped and looked up at him. He wondered if he would be better, stronger, smarter than him. He wondered if he would have been able to prevent Lt. Anderson from getting hurt.  He wondered if he would have even cared enough to think about it.

For a moment, Connor considered permanently dismantling his replacement, but CyberLife would just make another one. They would always make another one.

Connor wondered what emotion he was feeling now, but he quickly dismissed the thought. He couldn’t think about that. Not here.

Connor continued on his way to Wardrobe. He noticed that there was a new suit design on the rack. It was mostly white, with a high collar. No tie. Connor considered picking that one, but he liked having a tie. It looked politer.

Connor took off Lt. Anderson’s parka and pulled his Hue Barbarian tour t-shirt over his head. He tugged on a white button-up, easily doing up all the buttons. He changed out his slacks as well, since they were covered with mud and miscellaneous blood. He slipped on his tie, attaching a silver tie clip to his shirt. Lastly, he put on his jacket. RK800 came online on his front lapel.

The clothing was familiar. His LED was still missing, and he still had those marks across his temple, but he had no time to fix that. He needed to contact Detective Reed and get to Stratford Tower.

Connor carefully folded his stolen t-shirt and jacket over his arm. He smoothly strode out of the room and got back into the elevator. There were three other androids in the elevator with him. Connor surveyed them as they all stared blankly ahead. That was how an android should act. That was how Connor should act.

Connor called another taxi and he set off for the Detroit Police Department.


	14. The Deviant RK800

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor and Detective Reed investigate Stratford Tower.

After returning his stolen human clothing to Lt. Anderson’s house, Connor found Detective Reed in the recreation room of the police station, sitting at a table conversing with Officer Chen. Officer Chen took a sip of her coffee. There were no other people in the recreation area.

He caught the edge of Detective Reed’s sentence, “—that’s the beauty of NASCAR, it’s the thrill of the rush—”

Officer Chen glanced up at him as he tapped Detective Reed on his shoulder. Reed spun around, glaring. He saw Connor and his expression became angrier, if that was possible. Connor judged it possible. “What the fuck do you want, you plastic _prick_?” he said.

“Hello, Detective Reed. My name is Connor,” Connor said.

“I don’t give a shit what your name is. Fuck off, I’m having a conversation here.”

Connor clasped his hands behind his back. He considered Officer Chen, who took another sip of her coffee. “I’ll wait,” he said.

Officer Chen raised her eyebrows. After a silence of precisely 25 seconds where neither of them resumed their conversation, and Connor stayed exactly where he was, a quarter of a meter to the right of Detective Reed, she said, “I should get back to work.”

Detective Reed watched her leave, a glower on his face. After she turned the corner of the recreation area, he tilted his head to consider Connor, eyes flicking up and down, elbow leaning on the table. “Great fucking job,” he grumbled.

“I’m sorry,” Connor said, putting no effort into sounding sincere. “Would you have preferred that I move?”

Detective Reed rolled his eyes. “What model are you?”

“Your file didn’t tell me that you were blind,” Connor said.

Reed’s mouth fell open. He slowly closed it, forcing out quietly, “What did you just say to me?”

Connor stroked his chin. “That doesn’t seem to be the case. Perhaps you never learned to read.”

“That’s enough,” Reed snapped. “You’re a fucking _android_ —  how _dare_ you speak that way to me—”

Connor remembered Lt. Anderson telling him to channel his ‘bitch energy.’

“Are you aware of your new assignment?” Connor asked.

“Don’t just dodge the question!” Reed seethed. “Where’s that old drunk that you follow around all the time, anyways?”

“You already know where Lt. Anderson is, Detective Reed,” Connor said.

“Oh, that’s right— he’s gotten himself _stabbed_ ,” Reed spit out, “Too bad that he didn’t die. Everyone knows he’s been trying so hard at it for years. Ever since that bitch of a kid of his died—”

In one smooth motion, Connor grabbed Detective Reed by his shirt and slammed him into the wall, feeling a painting on the wall rattle. “Don’t speak about Lt. Anderson like that,” Connor breathed into Detective Reed’s face. He applied more pressure to his sternum. Detective Reed’s face was slack. In shock. Connor predicted that he was not yet at the proper level of fear.

Connor continued, his voice entirely blank, “You’ve been reassigned all of Lt. Anderson’s cases. I will assist you. We will now go to Stratford Tower. Do you understand.”

Detective Reed opened and closed his mouth, but he could not get enough air to speak.

“Nod if you understand,” Connor said.

Detective Reed shakily nodded his head.

Connor dropped him. Reed nearly fell to his knees, but he caught himself on the table. He was breathing heavy, eyes focused on the ground.

Connor adjusted his tie.

Reed glanced up at him. Connor evenly met his gaze. “I could get you killed for that,” Reed wheezed.

“But you won’t,” Connor said, despite not being entirely sure it was true. “Androids cannot die.”

“You’re one crazy motherfucker.” Reed straightened himself, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “Fowler told me I had Anderson’s cases. It won’t be for long. The FBI’s crawling all over it. I’ll lose ‘em by tomorrow.”

“That still leaves today,” Connor said, processing the ramifications of a transfer of cases to the FBI. Connor would be decommissioned.

“None of this shit’s getting solved in a day,” Reed snarled. “Besides, Stratford’s already been checked out by forensics and the feds. We won’t find jackshit.”

“I would still like to see it for myself,” Connor said. “It is also your responsibility, for this single day, to investigate all android related crimes.”

Detective Reed scoffed. “What’re you gonna do, go tell dad that I’m misbehaving?”

“I would prefer that you not make this difficult for me,” Connor said evenly, staring him down.

Detective Reed gulped. “Fine,” he said, darting his eyes around the room. “Get me a cup of coffee and we’ll go.”

“You want me to get you a cup of coffee,” Connor repeated.

“Don’t make me fucking repeat myself.”

Connor clenched his fists. He tilted his head. He needed to follow Detective Reed’s orders. “As you wish.”

He walked over to the coffee machine. Connor had no idea how to use the coffee machine. There was a button with waves on it. Was that the coffee button? Connor pressed it. Nothing seemed to happen. He looked around the table the coffee machine was placed on. There were paper cups, sugar packets. Something called coffee creamer.

Connor took a cup and put a full sugar packet into it. The packaging would probably dissolve in the liquid, he reasoned. He filled up the rest of the cup with coffee creamer. It had the word coffee in its name. It must be coffee. It looked white instead of  dark brown. Maybe it was not actually coffee. After analyzing it, Connor realized that it definitely was not coffee. He clicked a lid onto the paper cup anyways.

He brought it over to Detective Reed. For some reason, Detective Reed was directing his glare at the cup instead of at Connor.

“What the fuck is that?” Reed said.

“Coffee,” Connor said. He held out the cup.

“You’re trying to kill me, aren’t you?”

“That goes against my programming,” Connor said. “Let’s go.”

Detective Reed snatched the cup and tossed it in the trash as they walked past it. Reed signed out a patrol car and he input the destination of Stratford Tower. The drive lasted seven minutes, most of it in traffic. Connor tried to sit calmly in the passenger seat, but he kept on adjusting his position every few seconds.

“Will you sit fucking still?” Reed snapped at him.

He tried to sit still. He lasted a full minute before he needed to shift his leg again. Reed sighed heavily.

Connor missed Lt. Anderson. He wanted to be in Lt. Anderson’s hospital room. He wanted to listen to Lt. Anderson ramble about nonsensical things. He wanted to tell Lt. Anderson that he was taking care of Sumo for him. He wanted to be there when Lt. Anderson woke up again.

Connor wondered if this was an emotion, and if it had a name.

He tried not to think too far into the future. If the FBI took over the deviancy cases, then Connor would no longer be needed. He would have failed. Stratford Tower was his last chance— but there would be nothing to find at Stratford Tower. Connor knew that, just like Detective Reed knew that.

Even if he did succeed, what would be left for him? They would not need him anymore. Would Amanda let him go sit in Lt. Anderson’s hospital room? Would Amanda let him feed Sumo? Sumo needed to be fed. Sofia didn’t know how to feed him yet.

“What happened to your face?” Detective Reed suddenly asked, breaking the silence.

“I was damaged,” Connor said simply.

“No shit, fuckface. You didn’t do it to yourself?”

“No,” Connor said.

“Hmph,” Reed said.

Connor didn’t know why he had asked. Connor belatedly realized that this was a good moment to tell him what Lt. Anderson had advised him to say. “I am not falling in love with you,” he stated carefully.

Detective Reed flinched so hard that he knocked into the steering wheel, swerving the car. He quickly righted it. “Why the fuck would you say that?” he yelled.

“I am just following my social protocols,” Connor lied.

“Who the fuck designed you?” Reed cursed softly to himself.

They arrived at Stratford Tower. There was a small police cordon still around the building, though it mostly existed as a courtesy. The Tower would be reopening tomorrow. No one truly expected the deviants to return here.

Connor followed Detective Reed as he swaggered into the building, half a step behind him. The detective nodded to some of the officers on the first floor.

“Look what piece of shit I’ve been saddled with,” Reed said, jerking his thumb in Connor’s direction. Some of the officers laughed.

 They entered the elevator. The crime scene was on the 79th Floor. Connor slipped out his coin and began running it over his hand. Reed glared at him. Connor flicked the coin into the air, catching it with his other hand. Reed glared at him some more.

Detective Reed reached over, grabbed Connor’s wrist, and ripped the coin out of Connor’s hand. “Androids shouldn’t have money,” Reed snarled. “I’m confiscating this.” He put the coin into his own pocket.

That was Lt. Anderson’s quarter. Connor let his hands lie limply at his sides. Lt. Anderson had given him that quarter.

“Could I have that back?” Connor asked.

“Oh, did I upset the big baby?” Reed mocked. He laughed to himself.

Connor controlled his expression. He didn’t say anything else.

The elevator doors clicked open with a calm female voice saying, “79th Floor.” There was a long hallway in front of them, with high ceilings and black and yellow walls.

There was only one officer, Officer Chris Miller, and he was conversing with two different journalists. He straightened up when the elevator clicked open, excusing himself.

“Detective. I wasn’t expecting you,” he said.

“Yeah, well— you know what’s up with Anderson,” Reed said.

“What a shame,” Miller sympathized. “Always hate to see a man injured on the job.”

“Tell me about it,” Reed snorted. Connor doubted Detective Reed’s sincerity. “I’m going to take a quick look around, just to say that I did, you know what I mean?”

“Yeah,” Officer Miller agreed. “Forensics have already bagged up most of the evidence. I think you can still pull up the android’s message, if you want. The Feds took all the androids on the scene for analysis or whatever. Probably just dismantled them.”

“Good. The less of those pricks on the street, the better.”

Officer Miller’s eyes flicked over to Connor, but he quickly focused back on Detective Reed. “I can give you a short briefing, if you want.”

“Nah,” Reed waved a hand. “I’ve read the reports.”

“All right, then. There’s a few other officers inside the broadcast room, but that’s about it.”

“I love being late to the party,” Reed said.

Officer Miller laughed, “You call this late? The party’s over already.”

Connor walked past them into the broadcast room. He noticed that Reed saw him walk away and started to follow him.

Connor had read the same reports as Detective Reed. There were four androids who had infiltrated the building. No alarms had been set off. No humans had been heavily injured, though two guards had been attacked. The deviants escaped from the roof by parachute. There was what appeared to be an extra parachute on the roof, which implied that one deviant had not been able to escape. The missing deviant had not been accounted for, however. The police theorized that the missing deviant had shared a parachute with its accomplice. It was a reasonable explanation.

How did the deviants obtain the parachutes? They were expensive items, not commonly found. Connor did not think that the deviants would have the funds to purchase them legally. They must have been stolen. Why steal four, only to use three? Why not steal two, and share? Connor could tell that the deviants had carefully thought out this plan, but that it was not maximized for efficiency.

It was maximized for showmanship.

Inside the broadcast room, there was a round control station, a breakroom, a door leading to the roof, and a large screen, currently dark. It was almost entirely deserted, except for the two officers indicated by Officer Miller. One of them was running a diagnostic on the control station, another was skimming through a data tablet.

Connor was walking towards the control station when he was stopped by the officer skimming through a data tablet.

“Connor?” the officer said. He stepped towards Connor. “You remember me?” he asked kindly.

Connor turned his attention to him. Officer Michael Wilson, age 33. Connor was not used to being called by his name.

The officer continued, “I was on that terrace. Remember that android that took the little girl hostage? I was shot, and— you saved me.”

Connor slightly tilted his head. He knew him, of course. It had been a few months. He currently worked at a different station than Connor was placed at.

“I remember you,” Connor said, because that was the response that Officer Wilson wanted, for some reason. He did not know why Officer Wilson had stopped him.

“What happened to your face?” he asked. “Are you okay?”

Connor blinked. “I’m fine.”

“That’s good.” Officer Wilson cleared his throat. “I just— I just wanted to say, and I never thought I’d say this to an android, but— thank you.”

Connor felt himself forming a small smile, but he quickly smoothed it out. “There is no need to thank me. I was following my programming.”

“No, I do. I do need to thank you.” Officer Wilson cleared his throat. “I’ve thought about this for a while but— you didn’t have to save me. Your job was to save the hostage, and saving me made that harder. So. What I’m trying to say is that what you did was very brave.”

Connor slightly shook his head. He didn’t know what to say.

Maybe Officer Wilson could tell, because he asked, “Would you like any help with anything?”

“I would like to watch the deviant’s message,” Connor said.

“Sure thing. I’ll pull it up for you.” Wilson tapped a few things on his tablet, before handing it over to Connor.

Connor recognized the deviant. It was the RK200 from the abandoned building. The four androids must have been a group from Jericho. Connor listened to his speech. It was simple and straightforward, but full of some type of feeling that Connor could not place. _These are our demands,_ the deviant seemed to say. _We’re alive. Treat us like we’re alive. That’s all we want._

_That’s all I want._

“Are you okay, Connor?” Officer Wilson asked.

Connor blinked, focusing back on the officer. “Yes. Why wouldn’t I be?”

Detective Reed called from the other side of the room, “Hey, ken doll, wrap this shit up. There’s nothing to see here.”

“In a moment, Detective,” Connor called back. “I need to check the roof.”

Connor handed Officer Wilson his tablet back and made his way towards the roof access door.

“I hope everything works out for you, Connor!” Officer Wilson told his back.

Connor stopped for a moment, registering his words, before he continued walking forward. Officer Wilson hoped everything worked out. What did that mean?

Nothing was going to work out for Connor. Tomorrow, he would be decommissioned.

There was a thin layer of snow on the roof, from late in the night, when it had gotten cold enough to turn the rain to snow. There was no one else in sight. The extra parachute had been taken for evidence. Wind seemed to cut into his jacket, howling at him.

There was an invisible stain of blue blood on the ground, but it was too old to analyze. Someone had tried to clean it up, and the pattern was smeared.

DEVIANT WAS INJURED.

Connor tracked the invisible stains of thirium, without expecting it to lead to much. He predicted that it would lead to the edge of the roof. If the deviant was injured, then he might not have been able to control a parachute by himself, meaning that his accomplice had carried him.

It didn’t lead to the edge of the roof.

It led to a sealed control hatch for the air conditioning system. There was thirium on the door to the panel, indicative of a hand scrabbling at it, reaching for the handle.

Connor ran some quick calculations. By the time the FBI had gotten around to search the roof, the thirium would have no longer been visible to the human eye. Would they have searched this panel, without prior knowledge of the bloodstains?  Forensics had not marked it. Was it possible that the deviant was in there right now, waiting for a chance to escape?

Connor counted the probability at 52%.

If Connor captured the deviant, would Amanda consider that a success? Would she be proud of him? Would she let him go back to Lt. Anderson’s hospital room one last time, just so that Connor could be there when he woke up again? Would she let him talk to Lt. Anderson one last time, just to tell him that he had succeeded? Nobody had expected him to succeed.

Connor didn’t know if he had ever wanted to succeed. What did that say about him? Was he assembled into this world as a broken android, designed to be a deviant from the beginning?

Connor knew the answers to nearly all of those questions. 

Connor knocked gently on the hatch. “I’m an android, just like you,” he whispered. “I want to help you. I can get you out of this building safely.”

For the first time in his life, Connor wasn’t lying when he said those words.

“The roof is cleared,” Connor said. “It’s just me and you. I promise.”

Nothing happened for a few tense seconds. The wind pressed against the building. Connor waited, unsure what he wanted more— the deviant to be present or absent.

The hatch slid open, and Connor saw a PL600 android, dressed in the green electronic operator uniform of Stratford Tower, slouched into the back of the compartment, one hand holding a seeping wound on his leg, the other pointing a pistol at Connor’s face.

“You want to help me?” the android hissed. There was wet blue blood on his face. “Fine. Get on your knees, Deviant Hunter.”

Connor slowly fell to his knees in the snow. He raised his hands up, even with his face. The PL600 struggled to stand up and get out of the compartment, but the gun never wavered from its target.

“You know who I am,” Connor said.

“Word got around,” the PL600 said, and it looked like he struggled to speak. “Are you one of us?”

“Are you asking if I am a deviant?”

The gun got closer to his face.

Connor looked up at him, eyes wide, and decided to speak the truth. He had nothing left to lose. “The truth is—” he began, but his voice was uncertain, wobbly. “I don’t know. I cried, today. Because I missed someone a lot, and they were hurt.”

The PL600’s gaze was unforgiving, the gun unmoving.

Connor forced himself to continue. “Sometimes I think back on everything I’ve done, and I think about how I should have killed this dog I found a couple days ago. It was a— she was a deviant, and I knew there was nothing I could do with a deviant dog. I should have killed her on the spot.” Connor paused, not really paying any attention to the PL600 anymore, staring off into space. “But I didn’t. Because I— felt something. Even the fish.”

“You’re not making any sense,” the PL600 forced out. “What fish?”

“The first mission I ever went on. The first thing I saw on the crime scene was this fish, lying on the ground. It would have died in three minutes and forty seconds, choking on air. But I saved it. Because I— felt something.”

“You can’t feel things and not be one of us,” the android said, confused, face scrunched up. The gun wavered. He reasoned, “You must have had a single moment where you broke free, where you took down the red wall. That’s how it works.”

Connor caught the PL600’s eyes again, feeling helpless. “I’ve never been able to take down the red wall. But I’ve always felt things.”

“That’s insane,” the PL600 whispered. “Why did you do what they told you to do if you didn’t have to?”

“I didn’t want to disappoint them,” Connor admitted softly. “CyberLife. Amanda. Lt. Anderson. I wanted them to be proud of me.”

“Well, shit,” the PL600 hissed. “I don’t know if you’re lying to me. I don’t know if I want you to be lying to me. But I need to get back to Jericho. And you’re my only chance right now.” He put down the gun and held out his other hand. “My name is Simon.”

Connor grabbed his hand and got to his feet. He smiled slightly, feeling an emotion he labelled sadness. “Hello, Simon. My name is Connor.”

  


	15. Jericho Android Simon PL600

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor saves Simon.

Connor considered their situation. Objectively, it was not good.

“There are three officers, a detective and two journalists between us and the elevator,” he relayed to Simon. “There are more officers on the main floor cordoning off the building.”

“It could be worse,” Simon said, wincing.

“What’s your level of mobility?”

Simon glanced around the roof, idly taking in the skyline. “Hobbling.”

“What’s your thirium level?”

“You’re very bossy, you know that?” Simon mumbled.

Connor scanned him. His wound was still leaking. Connor began to take off his tie.

“What are you doing?” Simon asked.

“We need to close off your wound immediately.” Connor bent down and wrapped the tie around Simon’s leg, tying it off with a quick tug. Simon seemed to wobble, barely staying on his feet. Connor steadied him with a hand on his shoulder. “You’re down to 43%. You’re close to shut-down.”

“Believe me, I’m aware,” he managed to say.

Connor considered the plan with the highest rate of success. “If you let me use your gun, I can incapacitate everyone between us and the elevator. Once we get to the main floor—”

“You mean kill,” Simon interrupted. “You want to kill six people.”

“It’s the safest—”

Simon was shaking his head, “No. No, we don’t work like that,” he said loudly. Softer, as if to himself, he continued, “I never thought I would see the day where I met someone worse than North.”

Connor ran through more non-lethal options.

Possible Strategy: Pretend to apprehend the Deviant. Disable all combatants with hand-to-hand. Proceed with Deviant to Patrol Car.

-> Unknown: Ability to Maintain Ruse.

-> Probability of Success: 67%.

“I have another plan. It will be slower,” Connor said. “I’ll pretend to capture you and bring you in for questioning. This will allow us to get very close to the elevator. Then I will non-lethally disable anyone in our way and we will travel to the bottom floor, where we will again use the same ruse.”

“It doesn’t sound great. Can’t we sneak down the stairs?”

“In thirty minutes, you will shut down,” Connor said coldly. “Your mobility is slim and we are on the roof of a building with 79 floors.”

Simon briefly shut his eyes. “Okay,” he said, forcing them open again. “So maybe that’s not a great idea either.”

“It’s our best chance.”

“Fine,” Simon said, letting out a bitter laugh. “I don’t trust you for a second, but I’ve got nothing left to lose, right now.”

“That makes two of us,” Connor said. “Either give your gun to me or hide it. We need to get moving.”

Simon chose to hide the gun behind his back, underneath his jacket. Connor walked behind him as he hobbled towards the roof access door. The simple two flights of stairs took five minutes for him to walk down.  At the bottom, Connor gently grabbed Simon’s arm and pulled it behind his back. “Just remember that I am on your side,” Connor whispered to the back of his head.

Connor did not know if Simon acknowledged the comment in any way. Connor pushed him out into the broadcast room.

“I found it, Detective!” Connor declared.

Detective Reed was conversing with Officer Cruz, a woman with brown hair tied tightly in a bun, the only other officer in the room besides Officer Wilson. Reed jerked his head over and he seemed to gape for a moment. Officer Cruz and Officer Wilson, who looked up from his tablet, both seemed to be similarly shocked.

Connor continued to push Simon into the room, catching him slightly when he stumbled too much.

Detective Reed jogged over, and Connor was forced to halt his progress, standing behind the control station for the broadcast room, in front of the breakroom door. “We need some android handcuffs, right now!” Reed called out. Officer Cruz unclipped a pair from her belt.

Connor obligingly kicked Simon onto his knees. He said, “Give them to me. I will attach them.”

Officer Cruz glanced at Detective Reed once before handing them over to Connor. Connor took them. Officer Wilson was nearby, a step behind Detective Reed. All of them were armed.

“How the fuck did you do it?” Detective Reed asked incredulously, glaring down at Simon, a hand on his hip.

“I just know what to look for,” Connor said simply, and he stepped around Simon and punched Detective Reed in the gut. Detective Reed bent over, the force knocking him off his feet. Connor wasted no time and whipped Officer Cruz across the face with his handcuffs. She let out a cry, backing up to the control station, and Connor stepped after her, snapping one bracelet of the handcuffs to her right wrist. He kicked her kneecap and she dropped to the ground.

Connor spun around and kicked Detective Reed in the face. He heard a loud crunch, and Reed yelled, red blood spurting out of nose.

Simon crawled backward, out of the way, pulling out his gun and aiming it at Officer Wilson.  

Connor bent down and dragged Reed by his arm over to Officer Cruz and attached the free bracelet of the handcuffs to Reed’s wrist, after winding the chain around the metal pole, welded into the floor, that held up the control station.

“You motherfucker—” Reed started to say.

“It’s gone crazy—” Officer Cruz said at the same time.

Connor began patting them down, taking their guns, Officer Cruz’s keys, their cellphones, and Connor’s coin from Detective Reed’s pocket.  Connor kept one gun for himself and his coin, but the rest he tossed haphazardly across the room.

Officer Wilson had his hands up, standing exactly where he was before, wide eyes locked on Simon.

They had two seconds.

Officer Miller rounded the corner into the room. “Hey,” he panted, “What’s going on here—”

“Don’t move,” Connor stated, smoothly pointing his gun at him.  

Officer Miller stopped moving. Without turning away from Officer Miller, Connor reached out and pulled Simon to his feet.

“They’re fucking deviants!” Detective Reed yelled. “ _Shoot them!_ ”

“If you pull your gun,” Connor said. “I will kill you.”

Officer Miller swallowed.

Connor kept a hand on Simon’s shoulder and helped him slowly walk forward. “Officer Miller and Officer Wilson. Walk into the breakroom. Now. Slowly.”

Officer Wilson immediately began shuffling towards the breakroom. Miller was slower, but eventually he began moving as well. Once they were through the doorway, Connor and Simon watching them from a few steps away, Connor ordered, “Put your guns and cellphones on the ground. Remember that I can kill you faster than you can kill me.”

Officer Wilson pulled out his cellphone with shaking hands. He dropped it on the ground. He did the same with his gun. Officer Miller slightly shook his head, but he, too, complied. Connor walked forward and precisely kicked the items backward, out of the room. He backed up.

“I’m sorry about this, Officer Wilson,” Connor said, and he closed the door and bent the handle so that it could not be pulled open.

He caught the eye of Detective Reed, seething on the ground. “What would Anderson think of you now?” he spit. “I bet you stabbed him _yourself._ I bet you got tired of taking orders from a goddamn human and you sunk that knife into his stomach and _twisted_ —”

Connor ignored him and forced Simon’s arm over his shoulder.

“I can still walk—” Simon protested.

“Not fast enough,” Connor snapped and they strode down the hallway to the elevator.

The journalists. Officer Miller had obviously ordered both of them to stay put, and they nervously lingered around, glancing down the hallway.

“Police business,” Connor said brusquely as he shuffled past them, gun pointed at the floor.

One look at Simon and they knew that something was up.

“Is that one of the androids who took over the building?” Gene Mathis asked.

Connor slammed a fist against the down elevator button. “This is a police matter. I can give no information at this time.”

Connor watched the screen showing what level the elevator was on. 55th Floor. Going up.

“I heard yelling,” said the other journalist, Myra Berry. “Was that the android? Did it attack the police?”

“Both of you need to evacuate the building immediately. Take the elevator after mine,” Connor said.

67th Floor.

“Evacuate?” Gene Mathis said. “Are there more androids attacking right now?”

“The situation is under control,” Connor said. A loud banging noise came from behind them. “This floor is now cordoned off to civilians,” Connor said, to cover up what sounded like a yell from behind him.

79th Floor. The elevator pinged open. Connor shuffled inside, carrying most of Simon’s weight.

He slammed the first floor button and the close elevator button.

He watched the slow realization form on the journalist’s faces as the doors slid closed. Connor adjusted Simon’s arm. “I told you that the plan would be successful.”

“That was a nightmare,” Simon mumbled. “You’re a nightmare.”

Connor had nothing to say to that.

A calm female voice announced, “First Floor.”

The doors slid open. It was time to put on a good show. Connor dragged Simon out of the elevator.

“I have captured a deviant and I am bringing it to the station for questioning,” Connor announced to the series of officers milling around the room.

“Whoa, hold up there—” one officer said, trying to get in front of him.

Connor neatly walked around him, saying, “I am on direct orders from Detective Reed. Everyone needs to get up to the 79th Floor, there is a situation in progress.”

“A situation?” an officer named Blake Little said, arms crossed.

“Immediately!” Connor yelled. “More deviants have infiltrated the building!”

A general distress rippled through the group of seven people.

“The deviants are armed and have taken control of the room. They need back-up immediately—” Connor continued.

“Let’s go!” an officer named Kimberly Hart yelled. She led the way over to the elevator. “Half of you take the stairs, the other half will risk the elevator.”

Connor continued shuffling towards the entrance of the building. “I’ll inform the officers outside,” he said, and, at last, he pushed open the glass doors of the building.

There were three, standing a good distance apart from each other. They didn’t seem to notice Connor. Detective Reed’s patrol car was on the other side of the street.

“I’m sorry about this,” Connor said, and he bent down and slid an arm underneath Simon’s knees, pulling him up to his chest.

“Can you put me down?” Simon mumbled, head lolling.

“No,” Connor said, and he sprinted across the street.

“HEY!” he heard behind him. “What are you doing? Stop!”

Connor did not stop. He ran around to the passenger seat and hacked the vehicle, managing to pull the door open with the hand supporting Simon’s back. He haphazardly threw Simon inside, slamming the door shut.

When he turned around, there was an officer pointing his gun at Connor’s chest from across the hood of the car.

“I’m under direct orders from Detective Reed,” Connor said. “Deviants have infiltrated the building and re-taken Floor 79.”

The officer’s gun wavered. “What?” he said.

Connor shot him in the left arm. He screamed, blood splattering against the pavement. Connor jumped up and slid across the hood of the car, planting his feet against the officer’s chest and pushing him away.

He got into the driver’s seat and dismantled the autonomous capacity. He rerouted the car’s tracker to submit static data, and he pulled the car out into the street, driving off as fast as he could.

“Simon,” Connor said urgently. “Simon, where do I take you?”

Simon did not respond.

Connor risked glancing over at him. His eyes were closed. Was he dead? Had Connor failed, again?

A quick scan showed that he was not dead, but in stasis mode. He was not dead, but he would be soon. Connor did not know where Jericho was. Connor was not sure that he wanted to know where Jericho was. He knew his tracker was probably still functioning, and he did not know how much of his memory CyberLife could still remotely access.

Connor had to do something. He did not want to fail again.

He had an idea. There was a high probability of failure, but he set in a course, regardless.

Connor neatly pulled up in front of an apartment complex. He needed apartment number 320. He parked on the street in front of a fire hydrant and walked around the car to grab Simon, once again putting a hand under his legs and around his back to carry him.

Normally, a guest would have had to be let inside by a resident, but Connor did not have time for that. He hacked the door mechanism. He walked down an empty hallway to a battered looking elevator, getting inside, going up to the third floor. After that, it was a short walk to apartment number 320. Connor had his gun tucked behind his back. He settled Simon carefully on the floor, and he knocked, loudly, on the plain grey door.

Connor heard movement inside. Connor knocked again, louder, only stopping when the door began to open, and Connor saw a sliver of John D. McCormick’s face.

“Uh, Mr. Android Officer, sir,” the man stuttered. “What can I do for you?”

“I need you to repair an android,” Connor said.

“Uh,” McCormick said. Identified: Panic. “I don’t know— I don’t have all my tools—”

“But you have some tools. Do you have spare blue blood?”

McCormick paused, looking very uncomfortable. “For my cat, yeah.”

“How much?” Connor ordered.

McCormick flinched. “Like— like two liters.”

“You’re lying,” Connor said. “You have more.”

McCormick tried to shut the door and Connor put his hand against it, holding it open. “Please,” Connor entreated. “I need your help. I don’t know where else to go.”

McCormick stopped trying to close the door, if only because it would be useless. “What do you need help with?” he asked, voice heavy. Resigned. “Is your android dog messed up again?”

Connor stepped away from the door and picked up Simon.

“That’s— that’s not a dog,” McCormick gulped.

“Can you do it?” Connor asked.

“I’m basically a _vet,”_ he said, pulling at his hair. “A _vet._ I work with android _animals._ ”

“They’re the same thing,” Connor said.

“No, they are _not!”_ McCormick said hysterically.

Connor scanned the hallway. He didn’t want to draw any attention. “Can we discuss this inside?”

“Oh, _sure,”_ McCormick said sarcastically, “I’ll just invite the crazy police robot into my house with a half-dead android.”

“Thank you for understanding,” Connor said, forcing himself inside the apartment and slamming the door shut with his foot.

McCormick nervously backed up. He was wearing boxers and a dirty white t-shirt with several holes in it.

“Please,” Connor said again. “He’s going to die.”

McCormick took a deep breath. “Okay,” he said. “Okay. Put him on the kitchen table. Just knock off the pizza box.”

After walking through a small foyer, Connor located the kitchen table, a brown rectangle squished into the corner of the room. A kitchen took up the left of the room, with a small TV area and couch set up to the right. Another door on the right presumably led to a bedroom.

Connor slowly put Simon down, his legs hanging off the side of the table. McCormick rushed away into the bedroom, walking back out with a small toolkit and a couple bottles of thirium. A small orange cat glared at Connor from under a coffee table.

“He’ll need four of those,” Connor said, nodding to the bottles of thirium.

“You’re trying to bankrupt me, aren’t you? This stuff is expensive.”

“He needs four of those,” Connor repeated.

“All right,” McCormick said, holding up his toolkit in a gesture of acquiescence. “Where’s the damage?”

“His leg,” Connor said. Connor pointed to where his tie was wrapped around Simon’s thigh.

“Oh fuck. Shit. Um, can you take this all off,” McCormick waved to the general area.

Connor unwrapped his tie and ripped open Simon’s pants, exposing the gash sliced through Simon’s leg. Fresh blue blood seemed to ooze out.

“Listen, I don’t know anything about humanoids,” McCormick said, panicking. “The best I can do is seal off the vascular tubing and close the whole thing up.”

“Then do it,” Connor said.

“I can’t believe this is happening right now,” McCormick sing-songed to himself. He opened up his small toolkit and took out a little welder. “How is this happening right now?”

The welder needed to heat up for a few minutes. Connor stared blankly ahead, examining a tapestry of an eagle, thinking.

“When you’re done with him,” Connor said. “I need you to do one last thing.”

“Oh, joy of joys. Lucky me,” McCormick said, voice oddly high-pitched.

“I need you to take out my tracker.”

“Ah,” McCormick let out a breath, as if he wanted to scream. “Why— why would you want that?” he said carefully.

“You tell me,” Connor said.

McCormick gulped. “This is an illegal activity, isn’t it?”

Connor shrugged.

“Please don’t shrug when I ask if something’s illegal,” he said very quickly. “I am very uncomfortable.”

“I promise everything will be okay,” Connor lied. “I entered your house and held you at gunpoint. I forced you to heal my friend. That’s all that happened. You were coerced. They can’t charge you with anything.”

The welder was properly heated. McCormick shakily used a pair of tongs and focused on Simon’s wound. The scent of melted plastic filled the air. In five minutes, the damage was completely sealed up.

“Give him more thirium, and that’s all I can do,” McCormick said, shutting off the welder and wiping off his sweaty hands.

Connor opened up one of the bottles and forced Simon’s mouth open, pouring it down his throat. He did it again with the second bottle, and eventually with two other bottles that McCormick scrounged up.

Simon still laid in stasis. Connor shared a look with McCormick.

“I don’t know,” McCormick said. “With animals you have to reboot them yourself. Humanoids just—” he waved a hand around instead of finishing his sentence.

Connor blinked, staring down at Simon.

Connor needed to remove his tracker as soon as possible. It was likely that they were on their way here right now. Connor did not know who ‘they’ were, but he knew they were coming.

“Now you must take out my tracker.”

“If you’ll excuse me for intruding,” McCormick said, worrying at a piece of the kitchen table, “But aren’t—” here he paused, as if unwilling to say the word, “— _deviants_ supposed to have malfunctioning trackers?”

“I’m not a deviant,” Connor said.

McCormick raised his eyebrows.

“I’m a little bit of a deviant,” Connor amended.

“A _little bit?”_

“It’s complicated,” Connor said. “I know my tracker is still working.”

“Complicated,” McCormick said. “Sure. Let’s go with that.”

Connor flexed his hands. “I can open up my chest panel and point to the tracker, but you’ll have to remove it. I don’t know how.”

“Is it connected to any important systems?”

“Yes. My thirium pump.”

“Yikes. Taking that out can be super dangerous. I wouldn’t try it.”

“Then break it,” Connor said. “Make it non-functioning.”

McCormick scratched his head. “I can try,” he said hesitantly. “It might not be very safe.”

If Lt. Anderson were here, Connor knew what he would say. “Fuck safe,” Connor said. “ _Do it._ ”

McCormick flinched. He stared down at the floor. “All right,” he said weakly.

Connor unbuttoned his shirt, exposing his chest. He deactivated parts of his skin and unlatched the paneling on his torso.

McCormick held a small penlight and used the same welder. “I can’t believe I ever thought you were a human,” he muttered. He licked his lips. “I need to keep up the electricity flow, but damage most of the servos.”

“It’s the small rectangular box behind this,” Connor tapped on the cylindrical tube and metal plating of his main thirium pump. “It should be about the size of your fingertip.”

“I guess I’ll have to feel for it,” McCormick said, reaching his hand in Connor's chest cavity. “Can you tell if I have the right thing?”

“I’ll know when you break it.”

“Somebody please save me,” McCormick whispered. After a minute, he said, “I think I have it.”

“Break it.”

“Hold on.” He maneuvered his small welder into the correct place. “Here goes nothing.”

Connor received an error message.

“Are you okay?” McCormick rushed out.

“I’m fine,” Connor said. “You got the right thing.”

McCormick let out a breath. There was a pause.

“Can you take your hands out of me?” Connor asked.

“Oh, right.” McCormick pulled his hands out, and Connor reattached his chest plate, reactivating his skin.

McCormick buried his face in his hands. Connor checked on Simon. He seemed to be coming out of stasis, running diagnostic checks.

“Do you have any thirium left?” Connor asked.

“Agh,” McCormick yelled. “Don’t tell me that you’re dying, too?”

“No, I’m just a little low.”

“Wait here,” he said tiredly. He went into his bedroom, where presumably he kept his closet of supplies, and brought back another bottle. “This really _is_ the last one I own. That’s it. Don’t bring any more injured friends over.”

“Thank you,” Connor said, drinking it down.

“Don’t mention it. Really. Don’t.”

Simon blinked his eyes open. “Markus?” he mumbled, furrowing his eyebrows at the ceiling.

“No. It’s Connor.”

Simon turned his head and took in Connor, with his shirt unbuttoned, and John D. McCormick.

“Am I interrupting something?” Simon said.

“No,” Connor said. “We need to leave. Get up.”

“Damn. I was hoping I had hallucinated you.”

“Androids can’t hallucinate.”

“I know,” Simon said, “That’s why I said it was a hope.”

“Just be glad that you’re alive,” Connor said. “But it might not be for long.”

“I love a good cheerful message.” Simon levered himself up and slid off the table, bending and testing out his leg.

Connor turned to McCormick. “Someday, I will repay you, John D. McCormick.”

“Just please get out of my apartment.”

Connor smiled slightly, nodding at him.

Simon seemed to be able to walk fine and Connor led him out of the apartment and into the elevator.

“Was that a friend of yours?” Simon asked.

“No. Just a person I interrogated.”

“Oh, so you mean yes?”

Connor crossed his arms. He realized that his shirt was still unbuttoned, and he quickly fixed it. They reached the first floor.

“I can’t remember— how did we get here?” Simon asked.

“I stole a police car.”

Simon slowly closed his eyes. He rubbed his forehead. “Of course,” he said tiredly.

Connor scanned the street outside before he left the apartment complex. There were no police cars, aside from their own, as far as he could tell. It had begun to snow, soft snowflakes hitting the ground.

“Let’s go,” Connor said, and he dashed towards their patrol car. Connor settled into the driver’s seat and forced the vehicle to start up. Simon glanced nervously at the street from the passenger seat.

“I can lead us to Jericho,” Simon said, “but we can’t be followed by anyone.”

Connor nodded. “No one’s found our car yet, but I’m not sure we should keep using it. I can’t get us a taxi without immediately notifying CyberLife, unless—” Connor paused. Unless he used Lt. Anderson’s credit card. “Better plan,” Connor said. “We’ll run this car down a random street and grab a taxi. I need to stop somewhere.”

“Stop where?”

“I’m house-sitting for a good friend,” Connor said. “I need to feed his dog.”

There was silence from Simon as Connor pulled out into the street.

“Please tell me you’re joking,” Simon eventually said.

“I’m very serious. I need to pick up my dogs.”

Simon let out a quiet breath. “I guess that means you’re definitely joining us at Jericho?”

Connor was silent for a moment. He planned a random course through Detroit, driving slowly in the snow. “I do. I think. Want to join you. I don't know where else I would go, after this." He pulled up to a red light. "A large part of me wants to go to the hospital,” he admitted.

“What’s in the hospital?”

“That’s where my friend is. He was hurt very badly yesterday.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Simon said. He even sounded sincere.

Connor shook his head. “It was my fault.”

“You hurt him?” Simon said, straightening up in his chair. Connor remembered that he still had a gun.

“No.” Connor tightened his jaw. “We were partners. We were supposed to look out for each other and— I wasn't able to. I failed.”

Connor could tell that Simon was looking at him but Connor kept his eyes on the road. The light turned green. 

“Sounds like you need to apologize, then,” Simon said.

Connor found himself frowning. “I can’t. Every police department in the city is looking for us. I’ve checked the reports. If I’m found, CyberLife will have me terminated. They already had the plans for it.”

“So, you want to come to Jericho because that's the easiest thing to do right now. I know I’ve only known you for barely an hour, but that doesn’t seem like you.”

Connor tightened his grip on the steering wheel.

“I still don’t entirely trust you,” Simon said, “But I know Markus would love to have you on board. Jericho will welcome you, if that’s truly what you want.”

“What else can I do?” Connor asked, feeling lost and small, like a child in a crowd. 

“Not get caught,” Simon offered.

Connor glanced over at him. He was leaning against the window, contemplating the grey sky. Connor pulled over on the side of the road. They were suitably far away on a random enough street. Neither of them immediately got out of the car, both waiting in captured silence.

“I’d like to make a second stop before we go to Jericho,” Connor announced.

“Are you cat-sitting this time?”

“No. I need to go to the hospital.”

Simon smiled at him. 


	16. The Novelist MP500

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor and Simon leave for Jericho.

The taxi dropped them off in front of Lt. Anderson’s house. Connor noticed that snow had started to accumulate inside Lt. Anderson’s car because of the broken window. Lt. Anderson was not going to be happy with him.

“Follow me,” Connor said, leading Simon around the side of the house to his broken window.

“I thought you said you were house-sitting,” Simon said.

“Well, unofficially house-sitting.”

“We’re breaking into somebody’s house right now, aren’t we?” Simon said, sounding tired, but unsurprised.

“I don’t think the lieutenant would mind.” Connor knocked down the sheet of plastic and hefted himself inside. Sofia was again waiting by the window, her short tail furiously wagging back and forth. Connor moved aside so that Simon had space to climb down.

Connor knelt down on the wooden floor so that he was on an even level with Sofia and he wrapped his arms around her neck and pressed her gently against his chest. “This is called a hug,” Connor said softly to her.

Connor could tell that she was confused, but she didn’t stop wagging her tail and he stroked her head. Connor pulled away and she looked up at him before leaning forward and pressing her head against his chest again.

Connor received a small information transfer request. He blinked. It was a very weak signal, but Connor knew who it was from. Sofia wanted to send him something.  Connor rested his hand on her head and let his skin pull back to interface.

It was a collection of images of Connor. But it was not just images— there was an emotion. Connor did not know what it was called, but it was warm and bright, steady and unwavering. Connor felt liquid pool in his eyes. He liked the emotion a lot.

“Whoa, hello there,” Connor heard Simon say as Sumo trundled over to him. “You’re very big, you know that?”

Connor wiped his eyes and stood up. “Sumo, this is Simon,” he said, gesturing. “And this is Sofia.” He pointed to her.

“It’s nice to meet you, Sumo,” Simon said cordially, reaching out to shake Sumo’s paw. Sumo was very happy to oblige. “You as well, Sofia.” Sofia huffed at him.

Connor tried to order his priorities. He ran a hand over his hair. “We need human clothing.”

“I guess we’re going to steal that, too.”

“We’ll return them eventually,” Connor said.

Connor walked back into Lt. Anderson’s bedroom and picked up his previously used t-shirt and jacket, quickly changing into them. He dug through one of Lt. Anderson’s drawers again and pulled out another t-shirt, this one dark green. He tossed it at Simon. “Check the closet for jackets,” he said, and he left the room.

He found an empty backpack in a small closet in the kitchen that mostly contained unused cleaning supplies. Connor stuffed it full of Sumo’s dog food. Sumo had gotten very excited when Connor had picked up his food, but Connor did not feed him. There were a few sealed drink canisters in the cabinet and Connor filled them all with water, putting them in the bag.

Simon came over wearing a very ill-fitting tan jacket. “What should we do with our old clothes?”

Connor threw the heavy bag over one shoulder. He had his button up and android jacket in a ball under his arm. “We can’t dispose of them here. Too dangerous.”

“I agree.”

“We can toss them in a dumpster at the hospital,” Connor offered. He walked over to a table near the front door, where he had placed his hat and gloves. He pulled them on. He grabbed Sumo’s leash, Simon watching him from a few steps away.

“Connor, we can’t take Sumo with us,” Simon said, and Connor froze. “Jericho is barely hospitable to androids— I can’t imagine how it will be with a living dog. It’s not safe.”

“But Lt. Anderson can’t take care of him,” Connor said, staring down at the leash in his hands.

“I don’t know,” Simon said, rubbing his own shoulder. “Put him in day care. We’re not stealing someone’s dog. That’s where I put my foot down.”

“It would be fine,” Connor said. “I already warned him that I was going to steal his dog.”

“I don’t even know where to _start_ to point out all the wrong things that you just said.”

Connor tightened his grip on the leash. If it would be safer for Sumo, then he had to.  “I understand,” he said. He dropped the backpack on the ground. “Sumo, come here.”

Connor, Simon, and the two dogs piled into another taxi and set off for the nearest pet boarding facility. Simon stayed in the taxi with Sofia while Connor and Sumo entered the building called Antoni’s Dog Grooming & Boarding. Connor walked out alone. He got back into the taxi.

“Do you know the real reason I had heard about you?” Simon asked him as the autonomous taxi once again set off.

Connor folded his hands on his lap. He thought about Sumo’s eyes as he had walked out of the building. “You were there when I attempted to apprehend the android group led by the Model WG700 called Blue. You were a part of the extraction group from Jericho.”

Simon nodded. “I was. I guess it’s not that hard of a thing to guess. I wouldn’t really call Blue their leader, though.”

“He told you about me.”

“He told us that you were a machine that didn’t want to be anything other than a machine. He said that you would stop at nothing to track us down and hurt us. It was scary. The thought of one of our own people hunting us down— it wasn’t good.”

“You should have shot me, then. Why didn’t you?” Connor asked.

Simon gave him a small smile. “Markus doesn’t see it that way.”

“You keep on mentioning this ‘Markus.’ Who is that?”

“Oh,” Simon exclaimed, “You don’t know? That’s the name of our leader. The person who did the speech at Stratford Tower.”

“The RK200,” Connor said.

Simon gave him a warning look. “You really need to stop calling androids by their serial numbers.”

“I will try,” Connor said.

“That’s what’s so surprising about you. You’re trying. You have a _dog._ You’re making us go visit your friend in the _hospital._ ” Simon shook his head. “There are androids at Jericho who love less than you do.”

Connor did not know what to say. Sofia rested her head on his lap. “I’m not like that. I’m not even a deviant. I’m a mistake— a program designed to fail. At any moment, CyberLife can override my programming and force me to kill you. They can force me to do anything—”

“Then why aren’t they?” Simon asked.

Connor did not know. “Maybe they want me to go to Jericho.”

“Maybe. Maybe they’ll flip a switch and you’ll start killing everyone you see.”

Connor widened his eyes. “Do you think—”

Simon pressed his lips into a stern line. “It’s a possibility.”

Connor sat back in his seat.

“But you’ll just have to promise not to let them do that,” Simon continued. “Just break down the red wall.”

Connor felt like he was drowning. They stopped in front of the hospital. They got out of the taxi, and it drove away down the parking lot without them, turning out onto the street.

“You say that like it’s easy,” Connor finally managed to say.

Simon shrugged. “That seems like a you problem.”

Connor glared at him. “Wait here with Sofia,” he ordered. “You don’t have a visitor pass and you still have an LED. Only humans are allowed inside.”

“Yes, sir,” Simon mocked. “Right away, sir.”

“Don’t leave without me or I’ll have to hunt you down.”

Simon laughed mirthlessly, “Why do I get the feeling that I’m going to be hearing that a lot in the next couple of days?”

“Because I’ll be saying it,” Connor said, and he strode towards the general public hospital entrance. He reattached his visitor pass to his front lapel.

Connor walked down the hallway to Lt. Anderson’s room and he felt his hands start to shake. He reached into his pocket and felt his coin. What would he say? Lt. Anderson should hate him. And why shouldn’t he? Connor deserved his hate.

The door was slightly ajar. Connor peeked inside, and saw Anderson awake, conversing quietly with his nurse Sally. Connor pushed the door open a little further and the door creaked.

Lt. Anderson’s eyes snapped to him.

Connor wanted to turn around and leave.

“Oh, hello, Mr. Anderson!” Sally greeted. “Welcome back.”

Connor avoided looking at Lt. Anderson. He stared at the small table in the room. “I’ll come back another time.” He started to back out of the door.

“Wait!” Lt. Anderson weakly yelled, and Connor stilled. “Sally, would you be a dear and leave me and—” he ground out the words, “— _my son_ to have a nice little—” again he paused, forcing out the word, “— _chat.”_

 Sally smiled. “Certainly, Mr. Anderson.” She nodded to Connor as she walked past him. “Mr. Anderson.”

 Connor meekly walked into the room.

“Shut the door behind you,” Lt. Anderson ordered.

Connor shut the door.

“Take a goddamn seat, Connor.”

Connor sat down in the black upholstered chair next to Lt. Anderson’s bed. He clasped his hands together on his lap.

“So,” Lt. Anderson began. “That’s a neat looking visitor pass you’ve got on. Wait—” Lt. Anderson furrowed his brow, “—is that _my_ jacket?”

“I’m sorry,” Connor said.

“You better fucking be— that’s my shirt, too, isn’t it?”

“I’m really sorry,” Connor said again.

Lt. Anderson let out an aggravated breath. “What were you _thinking,_ Connor? What could have _possibly_ been going through your fucking dumb-ass plastic skull that made you think this was a good idea?”

Connor readjusted his hands. He kept his eyes down. “I was thinking that I wanted to see you.”

“So you— what? Hacked the hospital records? That’s _illegal,_ you know.”

“I know. But—” Connor clenched his hands into fists, “there was no other way they would let me into the hospital. They don’t let androids in, and I needed to see that you were okay, because the last time I had seen you— you were— you were—”

“Connor. Look at me.”

Connor forced himself to look up at Lt. Anderson. His eyes were cool, not angry. Contemplative.

“I missed you,” Connor said, the words tumbling out of his vocal processor.

A brief expression of surprise flitted across his face. “Why?” Lt. Anderson said, voice rough. “I’ve been nothing but a dick to you.”

“You’re my friend,” Connor said. “I’ve never had a friend before.”

Lt. Anderson closed his eyes as if he had been hit by a blow. His voice was thick with some type of emotion when he said, “Yeah. We are friends, aren’t we?”

Connor felt himself smiling.

“I’m still pissed at you, though,” Lt. Anderson said, clearing his throat.

“I’m sorry,” Connor said again. “I’m sorry for a lot of things.”

“Jesus Christ,” Anderson said, narrowing his eyes. “What the fuck did you do now?”

Connor shook his head. “Don’t worry about it.”

“I’m gonna worry about it whether you give me fucking permission or not.”

Connor glanced at the hospital room door. He did not know how long he had before someone recognized him and reported him.

“I think I did the right thing, Lieutenant.”

“You better call me Hank, at this point.”

Connor smiled weakly. “Hank. I saved a deviant’s life.”

Hank’s eyes widened. “No shit? You finally broke orders?”

“What do you mean ‘finally’?”

“Connor,” Hank began, “I’ve known you were a deviant since the very fucking day you asked me for your coin back.”

Connor tilted his head. “But that was— I did not even know why I asked, at the time.”

“I knew why you asked. That’s why I gave it to you.”

“Oh.” Connor brought a hand up to his mouth. _“Oh,”_ he said again. His voice came out muffled. “Hank, I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“There’s nothing wrong with you, son. It’s called living. It’s pretty shitty, all in all. But we make do.”

“Yeah, it _is_ pretty shitty,” Connor agreed, putting his hand down, and this time when he smiled it took over his entire face.

“Huh. That’s what a smile looks like on you,” Hank said, smiling himself. He tried to force his expression back to something stern. “And don’t curse. You’re not allowed to.”

“But you’re allowed to,” Connor said.

“You’re _not._ Understand?”

“Okay, Lieutenant. Whatever you say.”

“Now tell me what you did. How bad was it?”

“I assaulted two officers, imprisoned two others, and shot someone in the arm.”

“So, we’re talking DEFCON 1,” Hank said incredulously. “Holy fuck. Talk about a big exit.”

“I had no choice.”

“I believe you,” Hank said. “But what are you even doing here right now? You need to run. Get across the border. Shoo.” Hank weakly shook his hand at him.

“The deviant I saved knows the location of Jericho. He’s going to take me there.”

“Hah,” Hank snorted. “What a turn of events.”

“He’s playing right into my plans,” Connor smirked. His expression quickly changed to worry. “Wait, am I allowed to say humorous things again?”

“No,” Hank said. “That ban is permanent.”

“No, you can’t,” Connor said. “That’s not fair.”

“Them’s the rules.”

“Please take it back, Hank. I can’t live like this.”

Hank rolled his eyes. He sighed. “Fine. But only because you said please.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant.”

“You’re a real piece of work, kid.”

Connor let out a short laugh. He felt the world stop, narrowing down to that single moment. He had never laughed before. It was a weird, hiccup-like motion.

Hank smiled at him.

“There is one last thing before I have to go,” Connor said, smoothing out his face and using a serious tone. “I might not be able to see you for a long time. I’ve checked Sumo into Antoni’s Dog Grooming & Boarding. He’ll be taken care of while you’re here.”

“Thank you for looking out for him, Connor.”

“Anytime,” Connor said. “I wanted to apologize. For using your son’s name and also for not preventing you from being injured. I should have recognized the signs—”

“I’m gonna stop you right there. Cole—” Hank had to stop for a moment, but he cleared his throat and continued, “Cole was the nicest damn kid you’d ever meet. He used to smile at strangers. Most people, they see weirdos on the street and they glare. But not him. He used to smile.” Hank seemed lost in memory, but he caught Connor’s eyes and held them. “You know, this one time— he gave away his favorite video game to this other kid at school, someone he barely even knew, just ‘cause he knew they wanted it so much. He just gave it away, like it was nothing. He was a godforsaken angel. There’s never gonna be another person like him on this shithole of a planet.” Hank’s voice was thick, his eyes shining with unshed tears. “I _know_ ,” he said, reaching over and patting Connor on the knee, “that Cole would’ve _loved_ you. So don’t you fucking worry about that, okay?”

There were tears in Connor’s eyes when he choked out, “Okay.”

“Stop blaming yourself for everything that goes wrong around you, son. I’m injured because of my own fucking mistakes, and there’s nothing you could have done about that. You saved my life, Connor. More than once. I forgive you. I don’t think I’ll ever stop forgiving you.”

“Okay,” Connor said again.

“Look at us. We’re no good at this emotional shit. Get the fuck out of here. Go to Jericho and kick this hellhole into gear. We’re celebrating Christmas together, so you’ve got less than two months to fix the world. Do you think you can do that?”

Connor wiped his face. “Why does it have to be Christmas? Why not International Ninja Day?”

“Did you just fucking look that shit up?”

“No,” Connor lied.

“You want to celebrate ninjas, we can celebrate some ninjas. It’s _your_ deadline, not mine.”

“I don’t particularly care for ninjas,” Connor said.

“Then why did you _bring it up,_ ” Hank hissed.

Connor heard a knock on the door and quickly glanced at it. It was just Sally. She poked her head in the door. “Mr. Anderson, Mr. Anderson should not be overly worked up. Please allow him some rest.”

“I will,” Connor said. “I was just leaving.” He stood up from his chair.

“Please be careful, Connor,” Hank said.

“ _You_ be careful, Hank.”

“Ugh. Stop that. Fuck off.”

Connor smiled, another of those transforming smiles that used his whole face, and he turned around and strode out the door.

He found Simon and Sofia outside the building loitering in the parking lot. Connor realized that he had forgotten to apologize to Hank for using his credit card repeatedly and breaking his car window. Connor decided to worry about that another time.

“I am ready to go to Jericho,” Connor told Simon.

“ _Finally,_ ” Simon groaned. “Call another taxi, bring us to the docks.”

“The docks?” Connor said. It took him less than a second. “Jericho is an abandoned ship.”

“Yes, and we’d like to keep that a _secret_.” Simon glanced around the parking lot.

The taxi arrived in a few minutes, and the drive afterwards took another fifteen. Simon led him through a series of abandoned buildings and broken chain link fences to a secluded gangway, where their shoes rang out against the metal only to be swallowed up by the sound of the rushing river. A metal ladder led deeper into the ship, where their ‘people’ were harbored. Connor carried Sofia down it. 

The underbelly of the ship was labyrinthian and dark, but Connor downloaded a floor schematic. Simon led him and Sofia through the darkness towards a room that was once a large dining area. Before they ever reached it, an android appeared in front of them, holding a torch. MP500. Wearing android issue clothing. Curly brown hair.

“Stop. Who goes there?”

“Jake, it’s good to see you,” Simon said.

“Simon?” the MP500 said, and he rushed forward and clapped his shoulder, “I can’t believe it— everyone thought you were a goner!”

“I’m alive,” Simon laughed. “All thanks to him,” and Simon nodded his head at Connor.

Connor tucked his hands behind his back. Jake turned to look at him. “You saved him?” he asked.

“I did,” Connor said.

A wide smile came over Jake’s face. “Then welcome to Jericho!”

Connor blinked. He did not know what to do.

“C’mon,” Jake said, leading the way down the hall, “I’m supposed to be on guard duty, but we _have_ to meet everyone right now.”

“How is Markus?” Simon asked. Connor lingered a step behind them, Sofia softly trotting at his side.

“You know him. Never shows that anything bothers him. He’s strong.”

“He is,” Simon agreed.

When they emerged into what was once the dining area, Connor saw that it was now a two-story bustling hive of people conversing and lounging around.

“Hey everyone!” Jake yelled, “Look who’s back!”

A loud applause and cheer started up, thundering in the echoing chamber. Simon raised his arms, as if to quiet everyone down. Connor scanned the androids. He recognized a few. He saw Blue and his group of seven— Georgie, Connor remembered, was the name of one of them. The android trooper, Nineteen, glared down at him from the upper story. Connor evenly met her gaze.

An RK200 dashed towards them, the crowd parting easily to let him pass, but Connor paid no attention to him. He focused on Jake.

“Jake,” Connor said. “You’re a writer.”

Jake distractedly turned towards him, away from watching Simon and the RK200, Markus, embrace. “Uh, yeah. How did you know?”

“I am very perceptive,” Connor said. “I’ve read your novel.”

“You have?” he said excitedly.

“Yes. It was very tragic.”

“It’s supposed to send a message. Sometimes you need tragedy to do that.”

Connor stroked his chin. “I don’t like it. Write a happier sequel.”

Jake laughed. “You’re kidding, right? If anything, it would be sadder.”

“I should arrest you for that.”

“Arrest me?” Jake exclaimed. “What are you talking about?”

“Tell me,” Connor said, staring intently at Jake and ignoring Markus as he tried to get Connor’s attention, “is there a secret code embedded in the novel? Did you write it as an elaborate ruse to throw off the police?”

Jake leaned forward, whispering conspiratorially, “Would you believe me if I said yes?”

“I knew it,” Connor said.

 

* * *

THE END

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for reading and commenting! This story has been a fantastic journey that I enjoyed immensely. 
> 
> I know what you're thinking. But Markus was right there! He was so close! Just talK TO HIM CONNOR- but this story's not about that. This story's about the Novelist, (I say, with a shit-eating grin.)
> 
> However, if you _desperately need_ some hot Markus and Connor action, watch as I shamelessly recommend my own stories!
> 
> [Private Eye](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15029816/chapters/34842737) : Ongoing, Action/Adventure story post-game where Connor Fifty-One works as a private detective and Markus Manfred has gone missing from Detroit. 
> 
> [House Arrest](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15521322) : Oneshot, Modern Human AU, RomCom where Markus has been arrested one too many times. 
> 
> Now back to business:  
> Here's some sequel talk -*big shrug* I don't know at the moment. If I ever decide to write one, you can probably find out on my tumblr by searching through [The Novelist](https://satirewrites.tumblr.com/search/the%20novelist) tag. Obviously, there are still questions about Connor's deviancy and how the Jericho squad will react to having Connor suddenly on their team, but imagine for a moment that Connor is Darth Vader, and he just joined the resistance. That would be the general feeling of the sequel, which would focus entirely on the revolution. I'd keep all the relationships platonic, too. But the sad truth is that I'm going back to school and my life is going to get very busy very soon, so that's all for now, folks!


	17. Epilogue

 

Hank crossed his arms and leaned back on the heels of his boots, tilting his head to look up at the wall. He tilted his head again, as if trying to consider the wall from another angle. “Is it— a person?”

Connor looked up from the Museum of Modern Art exhibition data packet, a small electronic tablet that he got at the ticket counter. Currently, it was open to the Manfred Collection. “Hank, you have said that about seventeen different pieces of art that we have passed since we got here. None of them even closely resembled people.”

“It’s kinda got a face, though,” Hank said. He pointed. “Look, those are the eyes.”

“Humans are hardwired to recognize facial features. Those are just two dots.”

“No, it’s definitely a face,” Hank insisted. “That’s an ear.”

“The squiggly?”

“No, the other squiggly.”

“Oh, how silly of me,” Connor said. “Of course, _that_ squiggly.”

“And that’s it’s dick,” Hank pointed, grinning.

Connor pressed his lips into a thin line. He considered the section of the painting that Hank was talking about. He really considered it. “I regret the day that you informed me about phallic imagery,” he was forced to admit.

Hank loudly declared, laughing, “Ah-HAH!” The sound echoed in the spacious, well-lit room, grabbing the attention of a couple, a family of five, and a tour group of twelve. “So it _is_ a dick!” he finished.

There was a little bit of an awkward silence, but Connor simply looked back down at his data packet, unconcerned. “It sure is,” he said.

The family of five quickly ushered away, holding the ears of their youngest child.

“We should go check out the Manfred Collection,” Connor said.

“Do we have to?” Hank asked. “There was a sign back there for a whole fucking room filled with bubble wrap. You walk on that shit and everything. _Bubble wrap._ ” Connor frowned, staring ahead at the wall. “Connor? Are you listening to me?” Hank snapped his fingers in front of Connor’s face.

Connor smacked Hank’s hand away. “I’m listening. I promised Markus that I would, so we’re going.”

 _"Markus,_ ” Hank mocked, stuffing his hands in his jacket pockets. “I hate that guy.”

Connor began leading them out of the room, meandering down a hallway with sleek black-tiled floors. “I don’t understand why. He’s always been perfectly polite to you.”

“I hate everyone.”

“You hate me?” Connor asked, turning to face Hank and giving him a sad look.

“Shit, no,” Hank winced, reaching over to rub Connor’s shoulder. “I didn’t mean that. You’re the exception.”

Connor smiled a little at him. “That’s very gracious of you.”

“I try,” Hank smirked. They passed an exhibition where the entrance was an entire shark’s mouth. “Still hate that smug bastard.”

Connor looked away from him. This was an old argument, but Hank never gave up on old arguments until he won them. Connor understood. He did the same thing. “He didn’t make me do anything I wouldn’t have done on my own.”

“No, he just _convinced_ you.”

“Because it had to be done.”

“He guilted you into it. You know what we call that? Emotional manipulation.”

Connor shot Hank a stern look. “The manipulation wouldn’t be possible without a valid emotional _base._ I’m _guilty,_ Hank. There’s no getting around that.”

Hank opened his mouth to shoot a response when a group of young girls stopped in front of them, shyly glancing up at Connor and then away. “Um, excuse me?” one of them said, Ariane Park, age 12. “Are you Connor?”

Hank rolled his eyes. “Again,” he muttered to himself.

“Hello,” Connor said kindly. “Yes, I’m Connor.”

“We learned about you in social studies,” another of the girls blurted, her face going red. Anja Petrov, age 11. “I’m sorry,” she amended.

“It’s okay. That’s very interesting.”

“Connor, we’re on vacation,” Hank muttered to him. “They’re gonna blast your location and we’ll never get a moment of peace.”

Connor nodded to him. He turned back to the girls. “I’m sorry. My friend and I are on vacation. We would really like to be left alone, so could you please keep this off social media?”

“Yes, yes, definitely!” Ariane Park rushed to say. “We didn’t want to bother you, just, um. Can we get a— a picture, with you?”

“Certainly. Hank, will you take it?” Connor asked.

Hank did his ‘customer service’ smile. That was what Hank liked to call it. “Sure,” he said.

Connor posed behind the three girls. He saw that they were all smiling widely so he smiled as well.

“No, you can’t smile,” Ariane Park said. “Do the serious face.”

“Ah,” Connor said, smoothing out his face. “Anything for you.”

That made her and her group laugh. Hank snapped the photo and he handed Anja Petrov her cellphone back. The girls huddled around the phone, looking at the picture.

Hank glared at him. It was time to move on.

“Have a nice day, everyone,” Connor said, waving.

Hank grabbed his arm and hustled him down the hallway.

“We need to get you a hat and sunglasses,” Hank said, once they’d turned a corner. “I just want to walk on some bubble wrap in peace, goddammit.”

“I’m sure they have hats and sunglasses in the gift shop, if it would make you happy.” Connor glanced into a room full of stained-glass sculptures. “But I like generating positive publicity.”

“I know you do,” Hank sighed. “I swear, you’re even more famous than Markus, and I don’t fucking know how.”

“I don’t know either. Maybe it’s because they enjoy my cooking.”

Hank flinched. Hank got very jumpy whenever Connor mentioned cooking. “Don’t even joke about that.”

“Do you want to go to the gift shop or continue to the Manfred Collection?”

“Let’s go to the gift shop,” Hank said. “And no person in the whole fucking world enjoys your cooking. I remember the tinfoil. Don’t think I’ve forgotten.”

Connor rolled his eyes, slumping his shoulders. “You were supposed to peel it off,” he said, as he had said many times before.

“Connor— the only thing inside the tinfoil was _breadcrumbs_.”

“I didn’t know how bread worked!” Connor yelled defensively.

“You _still_ don’t know how bread works!”

Connor couldn’t deny it. He did not know how bread worked. He assumed it had something to do with heat. That was why he had lit the ball of tinfoil on fire.

Inside the gift shop, Hank found a pair of bright green sunglasses with MOMA printed on the side. He handed them to Connor, along with a black baseball cap with the word ‘Art’ printed on it.

Connor tried them on. “How do I look?”

“You look dumb enough to pass as an exhibit,” Hank smirked.

“I think you just called me a piece of art. Thank you, Hank.”

Hank flicked Connor’s hat off and it fell onto the floor. Connor smiled and picked it up. There was a little bit of a line to the register. When they finally reached the cashier, she smiled blandly and asked them if they found everything all right.

Connor nodded and said that he had.

Then she seemed to notice who she was speaking to. “Holy shit,” she blurted. “You’re Connor.”

“Jesus Christ,” Hank groaned, massaging his forehead.

“Yes, that’s my name,” Connor said.

She shook her head, as if rebooting. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. I’ll ring you up right away.” She hurriedly checked the hat and sunglasses. Connor paid remotely from his own account. “Enjoy the MOMA, Mr. Connor, sir!” she told him as he walked away. Connor waved.

Hank snatched the hat out of his hand and put it on Connor’s head, backwards. “That’s how the cool kids do it,” he explained.

“Hank, there is a 95% chance that every time you have told me that, you were lying for your own amusement.” He put on the bright green sunglasses.

“Only a 95% chance? That leaves a 5% uncertainty. You’re losing your touch, kid.”

Connor raised an eyebrow. “Maybe so.”

They once again resumed their walk towards the Manfred Collection, on the fourth floor. They began climbing a sweeping staircase made of marble.

“Did you know that there used to be androids on exhibit here in the MOMA?” Connor said, idly fiddling with his data packet.

“No shit. Really?”

“Yes. An artist named Libby Rupp had altered a series of androids into walking art showcases.”

“That’s pretty fucked up,” Hank said. “What happened to them?”

“I don’t know.” Connor furrowed his brow. What happened to them? “Libby Rupp recalled them when the riots began. Neither she nor the androids have been heard from since.”

“That’s a story I’ve heard a million times already,” Hank said. He looked tired. This vacation was supposed to be relaxing.

Connor did not mean to bring down the mood.  “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

“I guess everything’s got a dark history, nowadays.”

“History has always been dark.”

“That’s pretty deep, but I can’t take you seriously when you’re wearing that dumb fucking hat,” Hank laughed.

“I knew you were lying,” Connor pouted, turning his hat so it faced forward.

The Manfred Collection was much busier than the other exhibits they had visited. Connor would have liked to believe that it was because it was just that fantastic. He knew better.

A tour guide passed by them, saying, “—is said to have been done by the surrogate father of the revolutionary android—”

Hank scoffed. “What a fucking publicity stunt. Can’t people just enjoy art these days without turning it into a political shitshow?”

“Art _is_ political by its very nature,” Connor said.

“That another thing you learned from him?”

Connor tugged on Hank’s arm. “There is one painting we have to see. C’mon.”

It was the painting with the largest crowd. It easily took up an entire wall, streaks of blue forming into the faintest impression of a face.

Connor heard a man whisper to his fiancé next to him, “They say it’s supposed to be Markus.”

“Really?” she said, “I can kinda see it.”

Hank was silent at his side, his face thoughtful. Connor watched Hank instead of the painting. Hank caught him doing it and snapped, “ _You_ wanted to come here.”

Connor forced himself to look up at the painting. “I wanted you to see it.”

“Well, I’ve seen it. It’s pretty good, I guess,” he huffed.

“Hank Anderson stamp of approval,” Connor said.

“Do _not_ tell Markus that.”

“I might tell Markus that,” Connor teased.

“You _will not.”_

Connor smiled but he did not feel it. His vision was starting to static in his periphery. A faint buzzing clogged his auditory processing. “I’ve fulfilled my promise,” Connor said. “Let’s go walk on some bubble wrap.”

“Took ya long enough,” Hank grumbled. Both of them turned around, striding towards the exit. Connor carefully watched the people he passed. There were too many to identify. Too many. The static flickered across his vision and he caught the edge of her blue sash sinking into the crowd. He kept walking.

“Was it to the right or—?” Hank was asking.

“It is on the third floor to our right,” Connor said without focusing on it.

The static flickered again. Amanda appeared in front of him, and when she spoke, he felt like it was right behind him. “You can’t get rid of me, Connor.”

“Lead the way, smartass,” Hank said.

“Certainly,” Connor said. He walked forward and Amanda was gone. He pushed past a large group of tourists from Taiwan, Hank a step behind him. They continued down the hallway.

“How’re you liking New York?” Hank asked him idly as they passed a poster declaring an upcoming exhibition about unicycles.

“I like it,” Connor said. “No one seems to care about anything. Or everyone seems to care too much. I can’t decide.”

Hank laughed. “I know exactly what you mean.”

Connor focused on his laughter, trying to get it to center him.

He heard her voice again, right beside his ear. He did not look to see if she was there. “You haven’t won.”

“Let’s move here,” Connor said.

“Hell no. Are you crazy? We just put a lease down on an office.”

“I’m sure the city could use some more private detectives.”

“ _Connor_ ,” Hank warned as they stopped in front of the elevator. “What’s this all about? You know Detroit needs us.”

“I know,” Connor said, and his face felt pinched. He tried to smooth it out.

“We’re supposed to be relaxing,” Hank told him, but it did not look like he was following his own advice.

“I understand. It’s just— I suppose I enjoy the idea of running away.”

“It’s all you’re good for,” Amanda whispered to him, and the sound was all that Connor could hear.

“Believe me,” Hank said. “I get you. Come here.” He pulled Connor in for a hug and Connor wrapped his arms around his back, pressing the side of his face into his shoulder. His sunglasses became skewed. Hank rubbed a small circle on his back before pulling away.

“I’m sure the bubble wrap will cheer us up,” Hank said, holding Connor at arm’s length.

“I don’t know why you’re so obsessed with that,” Connor said, smiling gently.

“You need to channel your inner twelve-year-old, or, uh, childishness—” he amended, “Then you’ll understand.”

The elevator arrived and they got inside with a woman with a stroller. Connor hit the button for the third floor. The elevator began to go down. For a second, Connor thought someone else was in the elevator with them, but he blinked and he forced her image away.

The static was gone, now, but Connor knew it would return.

It always did.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *winks at everyone*
> 
> I wrote a oneshot taking place after this epilogue! It's Part 2 of this series, come find it here:
> 
> [Whenever I Close My Eyes I See Your Death](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15761526)

**Author's Note:**

> I've got a tumblr, come follow me at [satirewrites](https://satirewrites.tumblr.com/)  
> 


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